


Un Ada Oda

by Yotka



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Al Capone and Amelia Earhart Switch Places, Al and Napoleon have a lot of chemistry, Al is a Good Guy, Alternate Universe, Amelia is a Bad Guy, Bessie Coleman, Cute, Duncan Lee, Flirting, Humorous, M/M, Rin Tin Tin, Sexual Innuendoes, Sexual Situations, Sexual Tension, Smut, a slightly alternate universe, and Larry is just Larry, other historical characters, they love each other a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-11-26 03:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20923244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yotka/pseuds/Yotka
Summary: In which young Al Capone and Amelia Earhart switch places — Al follows an annoyed Larry around as he tries to evade Kahmunrah’s henchmen, which include but are not limited to: Ivan the Terrible, Napoleon Bonaparte, and the infamous Amelia Earhart.





	1. L’amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Larry and his tagalong monochromatic friend are captured by Napoleon and his men, an interesting exchange between Napoleon and Al takes place. Larry finds himself to regrettably be the “third wheel.”

They ran for their lives.

Correction: _ Larry _ ran for his life. Al — as in Al Capone, _ the _ Al Capone — was only running _ alongside _ him, and despite the distress he himself felt, Al was in no real danger. Larry almost rolled his eyes. If Al wasn’t so dim-witted, he’d realize that he could walk off at anytime and it would make no difference whatsoever.

As they ran through various art exhibits, Larry thought about their first encounter. The little hide-and-seek game of life and death Larry had been playing with Kahmunrah’s henchmen in the storage unit had been cut short when Al appeared out of nowhere and declared he wanted “a piece of the action,” so to speak. And, hey, if Larry was a living wax figure stuck in a storage facility underneath a museum, he’d be pretty bored, he guessed, but he seriously doubted that he would take to following a cranky ex-nightguard around for an entire night just to satisfy his boredom.

If they were caught, Al would most definitely be let free; he wasn’t involved and probably couldn’t care less about the whole “conquer the world” jazz Kahmunrah had cooked up. Al didn’t have the tablet nor did he didn’t steal the tablet — he probably didn’t even know he was made of wax!

All in all, the monochromatic mobster was nothing more than a ball and chain. Larry considered saying that they should split up, which Al would definitely fall for, and then _ boom! _ — no more dead weight! That is, _ if _ Larry managed to avoid him for long enough…

“Ah, c’mon!” Al cried.

Larry skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding the pointy end of a bayonet, and whirled around, only to find another bayonet thrusted into his face. He looked over to find Al experiencing the same dilemma.

They were surrounded.

Larry never thought he’d be so mildly inconvenienced to see Napoleon Bonaparte flashing a little knife in his face, but here he was.

Napoleon was… _ odd_, to say the least. He was way too hung up on the whole height thing — Larry told him so, which Napoleon didn’t seem to like. Nobody seemed to like anything Larry said. But before anything could really happen, Al had to go and comment on Napoleon’s bragging of his so-called “strategist mind”:

“Snazzy maneuver, Emperor.”

Larry had no faith that this wax Napoleon had any sort of “mind” at all. He shot Al an irritated look, as if to say, _ What the hell, Al? Whose side are you on? _ This wax-brained mobster couldn’t be smart enough to use approbation as a _ tactic _, could he?

And, judging by the tone of Al’s voice, he was going for a _ little _ more than approbation... 

Larry guessed it didn’t matter, because the moment the words left Al’s mouth, Napoleon looked over at the mobster and a sleazy grin spread across his face. Smug. Flirtatious. 

Napoleon stepped over to Al, forgotting all about Larry; that dumb smile broadened even wider.

“Ah, hello there, uh... black-and-white man,” he said as if he was momentarily unsure _ what _Al was.

Al looked down at Napoleon in a flirty gangster sort of way, confident and (what Larry labels as an _ attempt _ to be) sexy.

“‘Tell ya what,” said Al, “I like ya. Ya seem like a smart-type. I seriously doubt it took ya any brains or brawn to track down an idiot like that, huh?” He jabs a thumb toward Larry, who rolled his eyes deep into his skull. Napoleon’s gaze followed.

“But, hey, I get it: Mr. Bossman must be servin’ ya a pretty penny for all yer troubles, huh? _ Been _ there, believe me.”

Napoleon seemed to be pleased by both the approbation and the flirtatious nature of the exchange, and especially by the way Al loomed over him. For a guy who hated being called short, he certainly appeared to enjoy their height differences. 

“I like where this is going…”

“Of course ya do, smart guy like yourself! So,” Al said, his voice now buttery, “can’t we talk about this? Yer not _ really _ gonna arrest my friend here, are ya? For cryin’ out loud, be reasonable.” His tone got quieter and quieter as he spoke, his head leaning closer and closer. “Ya could be usin’ all that moxy for a _ real _ challenge worthy of a real good strategy, huh? Somethin’ only a general like yourself can cook up in the ol’ noggin? Not this — _ this _ simple little cat and mouse stunt you’ve been pullin’, it ain’t worth yer time.”

Their faces were very close now. Al’s stature forced the short man to look up at him; he could’ve just as easily kissed him with no hassle if he so wished. And, from the way things were going, it wouldn’t be insane if that _ did _ happen.

“I like what you say to me, uh…?” Napoleon purred. He took a step forward. Their chests are nearly touching.

“The name’s Al. Al Capone.” He grins. “Whaddya say, little man?”

“Ah, yes, well, _ Al_…” Napoleon said, coming so close and tilting his head ever so slightly, his eyes lidded, “Unfortunately for you, the ‘pretty penny,’ as you say, is very much worth my time. But I enjoy your strategy — a very... primitive approach, no?”

It was as if Al had been slapped in the face. After a heartbeat and a blink, he barely retained his composure, muttering a small “ya can’t blame a guy for tryin’” as Napoleon pulled himself away. He turned his attention back to Larry, who awkwardly stood there, watching them.

“That was weird for all of us,” he deadpanned.

On that note, Napoleon shouted orders in French; he and his men led Larry away, bayonets viciously pointed at his throat. 

Al was left there. He called after Larry and attempted to shove himself toward the French soldiers, but was ultimately pushed away. The only thing he earned was a heavily-accented “Our fight is not with you!” from one of the men.

***

Later on, Al found Larry walking in the direction of the airplane exhibits. It almost seemed as if Larry was downright unhappy to see him, but he nonetheless filled him in on what happened with Kahmunrah.

“So we gotta find another combination? What kind o’ wild goose chase are they sendin’ us on?”

Larry decided not to comment on that previous… _ exchange _ Al had with Napoleon, and chalked it up to a moment of desperation and panic on Al’s part. “I don’t know, man, but we need to get these hieroglyphs translated. Jed’s life is on the line here.”

They asked a bust of Teddy Roosevelt for guidance. He helped them somewhat, but Larry really struck the jackpot when Al absentmindedly muttered:

“I _ still _ don’t get it — whatta bunch o’ bozos! Who do they think we are? _ Einstein? _”

Cue the glowing light bulb rising above his head._ “Actually…” _

***

Al tracked down the Albert Einstein bobbleheads before Larry can even begin to fathom where to search; he guessed the guy wasn’t a _ complete _ waste of space after all. And, due to much consultation and an unfortunate amount of violent threats from Al’s side, they _ did _ manage to squeeze the combination out of the little toys.

“3.14159265359…”

“Okay, okay, we get it. Al, you got that?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

_ Finally — he’s good for _ something. “Okay, c’mon. This took awhile and I haven’t been paying attention to the hour. We should hurry it up—”

Larry’s words died in his mouth when the onslaught of Kahmunrah’s henchman came forth from an impossibly cramped elevator. Before he could even snicker at such an idea, the crowd of villains surged forward.

“How’d they find us!” he heard Al shout, throwing his hat to the floor. 

“I don’t know…”

Then the sight of Amelia Earhart and her henchmen pilots clicked; Larry realized that all of the wax people in the aviary section were probably on par with her, serving as her henchmen. “Damnit!”

“We gotta get outta here, now!” Al cried, grabbing Larry’s hand and leading him away.

They ran for their lives (again) and climbed up a decorative latter to reach some sort of old-fashioned plane — the Wright Flyer, Larry read on a nearby plaque — and before Larry could process what was happening, Al had already hauled him onto its surface and placed his hand on the joystick.

“Fly us outta here, bossman! Hurry!”

One second before the Wright Flyer fully lifted into the air, Larry looked to his left to find Al sliding off of the plane and falling — a long, painful way — to the floor far below.

Shocked, he catches the culprit: an aviary henchman who grabbed Al’s foot and yanked him down. Before Larry himself could be shoved off and captured, he gave the henchman a good kick and she fell to meet the same fate as Al. Larry, against all of his principles and wishes, propelled the piece of junk higher into the air.

Flying through a museum on an old rickety plane that he didn’t know how to drive was _ not _ how he wanted to spend his Friday night, he realized, and _ oh God, how am I supposed to fly this thing? I’m not a pilot, I can’t do this...! _

***

Al was reeling. His head felt like a throbbing mess of flesh and blood and his aching body wasn’t doing too shabby either — God, it felt like he fell from the _ moon _ to Earth, not a couple of yards…

What kind of tiling _ was _this, anyway? Had these lift-off stations ever heard of carpet, by chance? Lunatics, if ya ask him!

He slowly opened his eyes to find a familiar figure leaning over him — several familiar figures, actually. Amelia, Ivan, and Napoleon…

“What should we do with our little friend?” Amelia said, a winsome yet dastardly smile on her lips.

“He is Larry’s friend, so he must be important to the man.” Ivan suggested. “We must lock him up. Put him with the others.”

***

Al experienced the same fate as Jed, except he wasn’t dropped into an enormous hourglass — the Russian soldiers shoved him into a crate that all the other prisoners occupied, which included but were not limited to: a fancy-pancy American general, an intelligent woman named Sacagawea, a strong-looking man called Attila the Hun, a little monkey, and a few Neanderthal cavemen.

Not the ideal prison, Al mused. He glanced at the American general and cringed. He’d bust outta this joint if it was the last thing he did. 

The question was _ how_.

Through the puny little crack in the crate’s doorway, Al could barely make out the figures of two Frenchmen playing some sort of card game at a table. _ Guards. _

“Damnit,” he muttered. “How am I supposed to get outta here if these bozos keep puppy guardin’ us? No fair!”

Suddenly, Napoleon, accompanied by the rest of his men, appeared out of nowhere. Naturally, the general started shouting in French at the guards, berating them for God know’s what. The mortified henchmen immediately stood up and straightened themselves out. To the march of Napoleon’s nagging, they paced around the crate.

Right then, an idea hit Al. It whacked him square in the cheek, prompting a dastardly smile that spread across his face as he eyed Napoleon.

“Oh, sweet Jesus in heaven, I _really_ hope this works,” he muttered, dusting off his suit and hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, ideas, recommendations, thoughts, and corrections are appreciated!


	2. Séduit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al strategizes and carries out his plan to seduce Napoleon. Luckily, Napoleon takes interest and Larry happens to be the poor soul who walks in on them.

Napoleon motioned to the rest of his men to follow him. He was satisfied with the guards’ subordination — for now. Those two doofs known as Pierre and Jean-Paul weren’t anything _ important _ anyway; they only had the job because the rest his men couldn’t be wasting time on such small matters like guarding the ragtag prisoners.

Napoleon had a man to catch, after all. What were a few aloof soldiers worth when he could (and would) have the whole world at his disposal? 

His men following closely behind him, Napoleon walked onwards unto the elevator.

He would never tell anyone, of course, but he was glad this little inspection hadn’t taken too long. The storage unit made him uneasy. The way the shadows played upon the stone walls induced an onset of particularly queasy feelings, and his eyes couldn’t help but dart around uncertainly.

When he saw it, he swore he felt his soul leap out of his body for a brief moment.

_ “Merde!” _ (Shit!)

He regained himself, of course. He had to. His men were present. What kind of military genius gets spooked by a damn _ hat _?

As professionally and inauspiciously as he was able to, Napoleon berated his men for standing around like fools. Get to the elevator — he’ll catch up in a minute. They did as they were told, which pleased him more than they could imagine.

Once he heard the faint _ ding! _of the strange transportational contraption going up, Napoleon turned back to the object in question:

The hat. A singular hat, black and rimmed and made up of a fine, old material. It sits on the floor, near the crate of prisoners but far enough to be hidden from the patrolling guards.

Napoleon walked up to the hat and gingerly picked it up. Didn’t it belong to that monochromatic man? The tall, handsome one who wore a suit and spoke an awkward dialect of English? The one who had — Napoleon suppressed a flattered grin — _ flirted _with him?

After the exchange had happened and he and his men were escorting Larry to Kahmunrah, he recalled them talking in French about Al. They joked about him, calling him a _ sportif _. They said he must’ve been desperate to attempt to seduce another man. Napoleon hadn’t commented on their jokes. 

_ They don’t know the half of it, _he thought.

Napoleon scanned the perimeter, the ghost of a smile spreading. The man must’ve escaped.

_ “Psst!” _

Napoleon whipped around. _ “Qui a dit ça?” _ he muttered, nearly involuntary. (Who said that?)

“Aye, short stuff! C’mere, hurry!”

He turned to find none other than Al Capone leaning out from behind a particularly large crate. He stood only a few feet away from where the hat originally was.

Napoleon walked up to Al, but not unwarily. Thanks to the shadows, they were both hidden behind the crate now.

“How did you get out of your box?” hissed Napoleon. “Explain yourself!”

“Is that any way to treat an ol’ buddy?” Al chuckled. “Nah, nah, I’m just messin’ with ya. Take a load off, ‘kay?”

Napoleon was appalled. “I… you — you _ what _? I am no old buddy! And what you say about messing! I do not understand this!”

“Okay, okay, sheesh.”

_Time to change tactics, I guess,_ thought Al.

Al resorted to his earlier attempt at “approbation.” He took a confident, obviously _ noticeable _ step towards Napoleon so that they were exceedingly close. Like last time.

That is, except Al lazily leaned with his elbow that propped him up against the crate. This way, he was able to look down on Napoleon in a much more menacing, alluring alternative. He hoped it would make a difference — despite the little man’s big talk, he took him for being weak-minded. _ Sexually _ weak-minded.

“C’mon, ya remember me, right? I remember you. How could I forget? And, y’know what, I know ya and yer buddies had to shack me up ‘cause of Mr Bossman’s orders — I get it, really — but, I gotta say, aren’t I a little _ different _ than the other baddies?” Al then made an incredibly bold move — he placed a hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “I mean, you _ like _ me, don’tcha?”

Napoleon was startled by the touch. But he just let it happen, surprisingly. Al watched him contemplate the whole thing for a moment — he prayed that the Frenchie actually understood what was being said to him. The cogs in that “strategist mind” were surely working away, but what conclusion would they reach?

“You are right.” Napoleon couldn’t hide his obvious besottedness, but Al could sense something distantly smug. “I do want you imprisoned.”

“Yer a riot,” Al chuckled dismissively, as if Napoleon posed no threat. “We’ll see if we can’t change that, ah? _ Ah? _What, are ya not gonna gimme a chance?”

“Give you a chance? Why?”

“_Why? _ Well, I — I can’t _ tell _ ya why.” He smirked. “I’d need to _ show _ ya.”

Napoleon looked as if he was about to indulge in a guilty pleasure; he momentarily glanced around their surroundings, then turned back to Al once he affirmed that they were indeed alone, bobbing his head a little. “I am… _ interested_.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

And then it happened. Al grabbed either side of Napoleon’s polychromatic face and tilted it upwards for a kiss.

Napoleon’s lips were softer than he’d expected. They were motionless for a moment, forcing Al to do all the heavy-lifting, but eventually kissed him back all the same. Al didn’t blame him; such a thing was probably quite shocking for a guy like him.

_ The plan is in action! Lord, if only Larry could see me now! _

Al pulled away, immediately seeking out Napoleon’s reaction. Oh, he couldn’t help but smile. Napoleon was so _ dazed _ , an impossibly smug look spread across his features in such a way that Al can barely think of an appropriate way to phrase it — Napoleon looked as if he had just woken up from a _ particularly pleasant _ dream.

Nonetheless, he found it cute. “Ya like that?”

This brought the general back into reality and he immediately flung himself into a garble of French blathering:

_ “Euh, bah tu sais, ben enfin tu vois quoi —” _Napoleon mumbled incoherently. (Uh, well you know, well, you know what —)

He was a babbling mess if Al had ever seen one.

“Aw, are ya flustered?” Al teased. Poor bastard — probably hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t speaking English, he was so ruffled. “What — a big ol’ tough general like yourself can’t handle a little action?”

Even if Napoleon could not fully understand what Al meant by this, he knew taunting when he heard it. Out of pure dignity, he took the bait.

“I am _ not_! I do not care for your mockery!” he hissed like an enraged mother at a supermarket. “I do handle little action! I handle a lot of action!”

Al couldn’t believe it. This was the jackpot of misinterpretations due to a language barrier. “Oh, a _ lot _ of action? Well then, yer the bossman, not me…”

***

Larry was _ not _ having a good time. A harrowing encounter with Abraham Lincoln and a painfully adrenaline-induced run from Ivan the Terrible’s henchmen later, he was on the elevator going down to the storage unit. The muffled hum of the music did little to calm his nerves.

A placid _ ding! _ later and he was walking across the cement floors stacked with scattered crates and plastic coverings. Again. This whole wild goose chase was starting to get old.

A noise snapped him from his ill-tempered thoughts. Several noises, actually.

He stopped in his tracks. These… these _ noises _ (plural, he realized) were eminiating from behind a longer, shorter crate that was very wide; it was so wide that he could not see what was on the other side of it…

“Shh!” one of the voices said as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Come to think of it, that sounded a lot like _ Al_…

_ Giggles. _ Larry concluded that he heard _ giggles_. From the noises alone, he discerned two entities, presumably masculine, that giggled as if they were children engaging in something mischievous, something worth stifling their laughter and glee for…

“Hello?” Larry called out. “Who’s there?” He thought about simply walking around the crate to find out the nature of the noises himself but thinks better of it, not wanting to startle or invoke something hostile.

The noises suddenly stopped. It was amazing how quiet the storage unit was now, despite all the exhibits probably running rampant through it.

“Al?” Larry said. His tone shifted from agitated to exasperated. “Al, I know that’s you. Come on out.”

Larry rolled his eyes. Christ, could this womanizer keep it in his pants for _ two _seconds? This was a (rather inconvenient) matter of the fate of the world, for crying out loud! What’s taking him so long, anyway —

Al suddenly poked his head out from underneath the other end of the crate. He was clearly disheveled, his normally pristine suit and tie crooked and crinkled and unbuttoned, his hair mussed and his hat tilted to a forty-five degree angle atop his head. It was the typical appearance of a man fooling around with a lady, no doubt.

“Oh, hey there, bossman,” Al greeted, feigning an innocent grin. His voice was higher than usual, an accidental showcase of his nervousness. “Didn’t see, uh — didn’t see ya there.”

“For Christ’s sake, Al! Come on! We have to —”

Napoleon then poked his head into view, and everything clicked for Larry. Really, he should’ve seen it coming.

Napoleon was in the same state as Al, if not more so. The first noticeable thing was how Napoleon was obviously _ underneath _ Al, his arms secure around Al’s neck and his dazed, beaming face turning to a blushing mess. He was disheveled, his big hat lost.

“Oh, I, uh, woah — I, um…” Larry stuttered. “Woah. This is a… a _ turn _ of events. I… _ really_? You two?”

Young Al Capone and Napoleon Bonaparte hooking up… How odd was that! Larry’s brain could hardly compute for a few seconds. It would be like finding Kleopatra and Confucius in bed together, or Aristotle and Jane Austen, or, hell, Marie Curie and John Legend!

_ “Bordel de merde…” _ (Oh, fuck…)


	3. Mon nouvel ami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon proves to be a flitting partner for Al, a general nuisance for Larry, and an excellent strategist in their fight to take down Kahmunrah. Who knew clumsily acted-out seduction worked so well?

“What’s the big idea, Larry?” Al hissed.

They were speaking quietly yet tensely, like parents engaged in an argument that did not want to awaken their sleeping child. In this case, that child was Napoleon, who still lingered behind the crate. He was out of sight. Larry guessed he was in the awkward process of slipping his pants back on, or maybe his boots. Larry certainly wasn’t one to pry. This whole ordeal was ridiculous, to say the least. Outright ridiculous.

“He’s the _bad_ _guy_, Al! Are you even aware of what’s going on? Can you get that through your head? Do you know what we’ve been doing for the past hour? You’re _fraternizing_ with the —” Larry began, then paused. A sudden dawning of realization came over him. “You’re… you’re _fraternizing_ with the _bad guy_… oh. Oh, okay. That makes this less weird. Yeah, yeah — to avoid a wax pharaoh’s plot of world domination, young Al Capone seduces Napoleon Bonaparte. Yep, just a normal night at the museum, yes sir-ee…”

“Hey, not_ just _ to avoid being captured,” Al corrected.

As if on cue, Napoleon appeared beside him, harboring a pleasant smile of familiarity. His guard had been totally let down, and now had an open and trusting atmosphere about him. He slightly leaned on Al.

“Okay, well, good for you, but while you were out fooling around with your new boyfriend, _I _was running for my life. The plane crashed outside the museum and it took me _forever _to get back, not to mention Ivan’s men swarming after me,” Larry said. “So yeah, Al, tonight has not been going great for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, go cry about it.” Al snorted. “We’ve got more important things to cry about, like: What are we gonna do now? I’m free, you’re free, and Napoleon’s in with us,” he said, looping an arm around Napoleon. “Any plans, bossman?”

“Our goals haven’t changed. We got to get Jed back safely and we can’t let Kahmunrah open a portal to the underworld.”

Al tilted his head a centimeter to the side. “So we gotta get in, get Jed, and destroy the portal-thingy. Or destroy Kahmunrah.”

“Yeah. I’ve got nothing. Any ideas?”

“No, but I think a know a guy,” said Al. He swung his head in Napoleon’s direction, who returned his gaze gladly.

Once again, Larry had to bare witness to Al and Napoleon’s — cue Larry’s exaggerated gagging noises — _affections_. The way they smiled at each other was cute, he would admit, but he couldn’t get over it — _ Al Capone _ and _ Napoleon Bonaparte_. He learned about these idiots in middle school, for crying out loud!

***

Their affections weren’t the only thing he had to bare witness to — the flirting also proved itself to be insufferable. And Larry found them insufferable for an odd, unexpected reason: Despite the weirdness of two totally different historical figures romancing each other, despite the perplexity of their circumstances, Al and Napoleon reminded him of _ school. _

Al and Nippy were like middle school sweethearts — two children with odd concepts of “love” — who’d only been “dating” for one day but were already convinced they loved each other and wouldn’t shy away from letting _ everyone _ know it! These were the kinds of people who would make out in the damn hallways, Larry thought with total annoyance.

“I can’t believe we’re letting ourselves be captured,” Larry complained. “This is humiliating.”

“Hey, I ain’t the master strategist here. He knows what he’s doing,” said Al, who then clasped Napoleon on what Larry hoped to be his lower back, “don’t you, Nippy?”

_ Ugh_, they already had _ nicknames _for each other. Larry was about to vomit.

“It is the only thing we can do. Remember to act like you are afraid.”

“Oh, so _ you’re _ in charge now? That’s not how it played out last time, if my memory serves me right,” Al cooed. 

Napoleon playfully shoved him, laughing all the while. “It can play out a lot of ways, just say the word…”

Larry couldn’t let this conversation escalate; he didn’t think his ears could handle much more.

“Are you sure your men won’t give us away, Napoleon? I don’t exactly trust them…” Larry said, earning a glare from one of the soldiers escorting them to Kahmunrah. “I mean, people don’t just flip-flop from one side to the other, just like that… Aren’t you worried one of them will rat us out?”

They gathered into an elevator and Larry tapped the correct buttons. Napoleon stood behind him and Al, watching Larry do so like he was performing witchcraft. Larry had to remind himself that technically, Napoleon wasn’t from this world, and up until this point, was unaware of such technology.

“No. I have complete trust in my men. They are nothing but competent.” Napoleon pressed up behind Al and said to his neck, “Unlike _ some _ people.”

Unlike Larry, who probably threw up a little in his mouth, Al was ecstatic. He loved attention, first and foremost, and he loved how Nippy talked — he could say anything in that accent and Al would be head over heels. Only an hour or two earlier, when they were having “fun”, Al had said the same thing: “Unlike _some _people.” Right now, Nippy was quoting him, using an English phrase he was not familiar with. To be honest, it sounded awkward on his French tongue — which made it all the more cute.

On the other hand, Larry was ecstatic when the doors slid open and he was able to escape from that enclosed space. Napoleon and Al took their time, the French soldiers following them wordlessly and emotionlessly. 

The back and forth flirting continued all the way through the museum. It only ceased — oh, rejoice! — when they collided with a few Russian guards patrolling the sector of paintings. These men were delighted to know that the man who would make them rulers of the world was captured, yet obviously peeved that it wasn’t _ them _who did the capturing. 

They left to report to Ivan the Terrible and, ultimately, Kahmunrah. How they beamed under their helmets — to them, things were finally coming together!

Larry was overly confident for once in his life. These 1500s Russians hadn’t a clue who Abraham Lincoln was, or who his stone statue was, either, _ or _ that this stone statue was on _ Larry’s _ side and would do _ Larry’s _ bidding!

Well, in actuality, Abraham was on _ Al’s _ and _ Napoleon’s _ side — the former president found them “utterly delightful” and he even said “well, aren’t you two adorable!”. He didn’t care for Larry in the slightest; he found him too uptight and whiny, or something like that. 

What did Abraham Lincoln know, anyway? He was a _ statue. _

After the Russian soldiers scampered off, Napoleon and Al resumed their affections like clockwork — oh, the torture! They walked side-by-side and weren’t discouraged by Larry’s disgusted demeanor one bit.

In fact, Al was _ en_couraged by it. “Aye, don’t you worry ‘bout this party pooper over here. I’ve spent enough time with the bossman to know he’s just a big ol’ grumpy-pants all the time, don’t take it personally,” he said to Nippy.

“I can tell.”

“You know, I’m right here,” Larry said grumpily. “I can _ hear _ you.”

“Hey, can ya hear that?” Al asked, looking around in fake wonder. “I _ swore _ I heard something.”

For a moment, Nippy was confused. He tried to follow Al’s “puzzled” gaze. He looked like he was about to ask something like “What do you see?” but, upon eye contact with Al, caught on. He grinned. It was as if a long-dead child awoke behind his eyes, ready to cause mischief and be a general nuisance to everyone within a ten foot radius.

“Ah, I thought I did too, but it must be the wind,” Nippy dismissed.

“Okay, guys, very funny. Might I remind you, you aren’t five.”

“Oh, there it goes again! God, what is it?”

Al stroked his chin, as if deep in contemplation. “Hmm, I swore I heard it, whatever it is… but all I hear is the sound of a grumpy pants poopin’ on our party because he hates fun.”

Oh, kill him now.


	4. Préféré

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Kahmunrah goes on a spiel, Nippy reminisces on his encounter with Abraham Lincoln and thinks about his “master” plan, world domination, and, most importantly, Al.

Napoleon and his men “escorted” their “captives” into the room of Kahmunrah’s residence. Various pieces of junk that had any resemblance of value or status were in piles strewn about; you had to be conscious of where you stepped. That’s one thing about leaders, especially aspiring world-dominators: Never let yourself be led by a slob. 

Beforehand, he ordered his men to act aggressive; he wanted them to use their bayonets, chiding Larry and Al forward, poking and prodding villainously. He also suggested that Larry and Al act ruffled and alert, ready to escape their evil captors at any sign of a lack of attention towards them. 

Al certainly got a kick out of it. “Mr. Forceful, aren’t ya? What, you’re too chicken to prod me yourself?” he had teased. 

Napoleon wasn’t quite sure he fully understood that, but nonetheless found it delightful. 

They entered his ex-employer's line of sight. Napoleon couldn’t help but avert his gaze after a heartbeat of eye contact. It was one thing to betray a commander, but it was a whole different ordeal to use their trust as a tool to infiltrate their ranks and ultimately destroy them _ and _look them in the eyes.

The Egyptian pharaoh was certainly pleased; he eyed the tablet in Larry’s hands as if it were a treasure. If Napoleon was still under his authority, he probably would’ve felt prideful — a dastardly sin in Catholicism. Good thing he ended up switching sides, he thought as he eyed Al as if _he_ was the treasure.

The pharaoh then went on a great spiel about total world domination, blah blah blah, daddy issues, daddy issues, daddy issues… 

Napoleon glanced at the large windows of the room. The darkness of the night made them very reflective. Abraham Lincoln would be storming them in a little while now, along with the Museum of Natural History’s ragtag army of prisoners. Everyone would get a chance to have a go at Kahmunrah, it seemed. These forces would descend upon Kahmunrah and his henchmen any minute. Napoleon was confident.

He stood in between Amelia Earhart and Ivan the Terrible and their respective henchmen. The leaders were intently hanging onto Kahmunrah’s every word, ready for this great army to be unleashed, ready to rule the world, ready ready _ ready_.

Eh. Napoleon could see that these were very lonely, unfulfilled exhibits of the museum. He had skimmed their plaques, after all.

Amelia Earhart? Never got to be the first woman to circumnavigate the world. Ivan the Terrible? First tsar of Russia with a tragic backstory that accounted for his ruthless, hate-filled nature. 

And Napoleon? Defeated at the Battle of Waterloo and exiled, once again, to the remote island of Saint Helena, where he ultimately died six years later. 

He winced. He didn’t really want to think about that right now. Or ever.

He disregarded those thoughts and returned to reality. Kahmunrah was still talking. People were still listening. The room was still quiet, no sign of the statue or Larry’s friends anywhere. 

Instead of listening, Napoleon thought about Abraham Lincoln. Oh, what _ fun _ he had been! He tried not to smile as he reminisced: Larry had led him and Al to the ginormous statue — Napoleon nearly had a heart attack due to the size of the thing! — who proved himself to be a sort of gentle giant. 

“Ah!” Abraham had exclaimed. “You brought some new friends, did you?” He peered down at the general, who clutched Al’s sleeve in absentminded fright. He hated feeling small. 

Abraham chuckled and turned to Larry, a hint of reproach in his voice. “So, why have you returned, small-little-man?”

“We need your help,” Al piped up.

Abraham turned to him with a more pleasant expression. Larry rolled his eyes — how did Al know how to win people over so well? First he seduces Napoleon Bonaparte, now _ this_?

Al explained their dilemma in the most simplistic, self-promoting way possible. Abraham nodded gravely throughout the tale; he was more than happy to oblige when Al requested that he would storm a certain area of the museum. He wouldn’t have to _ hurt _ anyone per se, just intimidate and knock down a few baddies. Oh, and break some glass. Now _ that’ll _be an entrance.

“Y’know, jus’ ruffle ‘em up. Make ‘em wet their sorry pants and ya can be on yer merry way, ya catch my drift? Whaddya say, tough guy?”

Abraham acted sagely in everything he said. “I approve of showing mercy towards your enemies rather than ruthlessness, Mr. Capone. It is very noble of you,” said the statue. “And I don’t mind at all! It’s not like I’m particularly _ busy_, now am I?”

Al beamed and looked at Napoleon, looping an arm around him. He stared back up at Abraham, then at Larry, who told them they should _ really _get a move on if they didn’t want Jed to be buried six feet under in sand by the time they got back.

“More like six _ millimeters_,” Al muttered.

Napoleon smiled at that.

“And, might I add,” Abraham continued. The trio stopped to look up at him. “You two make an _ adorable _ couple.”

“Why, thank ya!” Al replied with a wave as they walked off.

Even from a considerable distance, they could still hear Abraham faintly cursing the pigeons that perched and pooped on him. They could visualize his massive arms swatting them away.

Now, as Napoleon watched Kahmunrah’s spiel go on and on, he glanced at Al. The monochromatic guy was very focused on the speaker. Pity. If there was anything Napoleon enjoyed more, it was making funny back-and-forth glances, possibly funny faces at each other. The fun in it was to not get caught. His mind raced, and he nearly had to stifle a laugh at the thought of what sort of things Al would think up. 

Al was a funny man. Truth be told, Napoleon didn’t understand a good half of what he said, and the parts that he did understand were simple enough, but it was _ how _Al said everything. His strange English wasn’t even a factor, though it did prove to be amusing from time to time. 

Nippy was sure his own English might be amusing to everyone, too, so they had that in common.

Napoleon had only known Al for a short time — one night, and what a night it had turned out to be! — but he planned to cling to him for awhile. It was only natural. As someone who was unfamiliar with this New World and its strange inhabitants and otherworldly technology and all sorts of crazy additions, all of which Napoleon had _ no _experience with, he wouldn’t shy away from saying he was struggling.

Moreover, he was _ frightened_. Even with his men, who were equally as inexperienced as he, Napoleon’s navigated this odd place awkwardly, unsure and puzzled in everything he did.

And then, with everything that happened with Al, Napoleon had found someone whom he enjoyed (in more ways than one), someone that was as strange as the rest but liked him back, someone that could help him navigate this world less awkwardly. Someone that was sure of themself and knowledgeable — his own personal native advisor and translator, if you will.

Al fit the bill, Napoleon concluded, eyes trained on the side of Al’s head. He had to look at him with a fleeting sideways glance or else Kahmunrah might become suspicious. 

What would Al say to Nippy’s daydreams? he then thought with amusement. Probably something like “Keep it in your pants!” or “You’re a riot, y’know that?” or some other quirky English phrase that he couldn’t help but grow fond of. There was something infectious about Al and his words, not in the diseased sort of way but in the way a tree’s roots grow downwards, spreading, increasing, making footholds deep inside the earth…


	5. Fou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The portal to the Underworld is opened, and Al ends up disrespecting Kahmunrah and his army. Abraham Lincoln then makes his highly-anticipated cameo, which gives Al and Nippy some time to get out of sight and have a little fun. Nippy proceeds to figure out that Al likes his French accent a little too much...

Abraham had been late, and where the _ hell _were Larry’s friends?

Not that it mattered _now_, because _now_ it was too late. Al stole a glance at Napoleon and Larry, who each seemed as alarmed as he. 

All of this anxiety flared up within him as he watched that bastard who called himself a pharaoh punch in the code. 

“How the hell do you know the code?” Al exclaimed.

Amelia Earhart piped up. “I had a little _ conversation _ with a few faux fellows.” She held up a damned Einstein bobblehead, dangling helplessly from her two fingers pinched together. A shrug and an awkward smile emitted from the Einstein.

Ugh, all that figuring for nothing! Their knowledge of the password was utterly _ useless _now! And, what’s worse, they had nothing to trade for the safety of Larry’s stupid little friend!

Then the door began to open. Kahmunrah muttered an eerie, repetitive Egyptian chant as it creaked its thousand-year-old material, slowly but surely creeping ajar. The swirling hellscape of the Underworld was soon visible.

Al was dying of anticipation; he expected a god-like army to emerge, tough inside and out, adorned with golden Egyptian armor and junk, probably wearing that fancy-pancy eye makeup and those dumb headdresses.

But nobody told him it would be a _ bird_-man army.

Kahmunrah used the tablet to summon his army — of _ bird_-men. They filled the room in a powerful march, their beaks clacking and feathers ruffling. The hilarity of it all made Al forget about their dire situation for a moment, and he belched out a long, hearty laughter that turned the heads of everyone in the room — including the damn army’s _ bird_heads! 

“Ah, I can’t with these bird-brains!” Al said in between breaths, attempting to regain himself. “What next — _ pussycat_-men?”

His little joke brought another onslaught of unstoppable laughter. Besides Al and the occasional squawk of a bird-man, the room was deathly quiet. 

***

Larry couldn’t believe it.

He watched Al with a death glare. “What the hell are you _ doing_!” his eyes hissed, but Al was too giddy to even look at him. All he could see were the — admittedly ridiculous-looking — bird-men standing around the room in a soldier-like fashion, armed with spears and — probably? — some kind of ancient Egyptian magic.

_ Spears, Al! You’re gonna get us speared to death, you moron! _he thought, hoping Al would somehow read his mind and stop this idiocy before he got everyone killed.

Unlike his colleague, Larry was conscious of his surroundings, and he felt he could read the room pretty well. Kahmunrah’s eyes burned holes of searing wrath into Al, steam practically fuming out of his ears. 

Like a bull ready to charge. 

Amelia and Ivan were nothing less of appalled; they watched Kahmunrah intently, trained on what he would do to his insolent man. And Napoleon, _ well__…_

__…_Napoleon _ was trying _ not _to laugh. He really was. He hid his mouth beneath his hand, his face a bit pinker than usual. Larry guessed a lover’s laughter proved contagious.

***

_ “Ah-hahahahaha!” _Al wiped away a tear. 

Finally, it appeared that he was finished. Nippy sucked in a breath of air — he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold out much longer. Then, Al said:

“What, got nothing to say, bird-boys? Too busy layin’ eggs for your prissy little boss here? Bet you love his dress, too!” 

This, of course, sent Al into another fit of laughter, and the silent, anticipating atmosphere resumed.

***

Of course, Al did end up calming down — he hadn’t even been laughing for that long, give or take twenty seconds — but the damage was done. 

_ He won’t be able to seduce his way out of this one, _Larry thought.

It seemed the whole world awaited Kahmunrah’s response. Even Al stared at the pharaoh, a hint of stiff, wide-eyed regret now lacing his normally thuggish, smooth features. Larry swore he could hear the mobster’s thoughts:

_ Shit, shit, shit shit shit shitshitshit shit shit! _

***

Kahmunrah has some nasty things to say, of course. The first thing that really jumped out at Al was the vicious threat to cut out his tongue so he’ll never be able to laugh again, then individually pull each of his teeth so he couldn’t smile anymore, and finally rip off his ears so he’ll never be able to hear another joke.

“What do you think of _ that_, funny man?” Kahmunrah seethed.

At this point, Al’s mouth was dry; all the color in his face drained. He said nothing.

“That’s what I thought! Now,” the pharaoh said, then shouted some orders in Egyptian that only his soldiers could understand. They cawed their crow-like shrieks, as if in response, and began marching to the beat of his instructions.

They didn’t get very far.

It happened so quickly; at first, Nippy was unsure if it _ did_. The windows were shattered as a ginormous leg of marble stuck itself into the room, followed by another, and then the entirety of none other than Abraham Lincoln appeared. His expression was oddly peaceful for someone who was intent on slamming the puzzled bird-men across the room.

Some were thrown, others were given a good whack on their backs. It was all the same to the former president; he even said some triumphant words of peace and dignity as he railed them.

Kahmunrah was knocked onto his backside in the struggle. Amelia Earhart and Ivan the Terrible didn’t move — they _ couldn’t _— while their henchman, without orders, seemed lost and just as puzzled as the bird-men.

In all the confusion, Al and Napoleon found each other. They found a hiding place behind Kahmunrah’s throne of junk — it would have to do. Glass was scattered everywhere, considering its proximity to the recently bashed-in windows, and the shards crunched underneath their shoes.

“Where _ are _ Larry’s friends?” Nippy asked. “Once the bird-men are done with, Abraham’s task will be complete and he will leave, and we still have Kahmunrah and the others to deal with!”

“Hey, hey, don’tcha worry your short little self. I’m sure they’re just waitin’ for the fuss to gloss over so they can have ‘emselves a _ real _challenge with these loonies!” Al exclaimed, fire in his eyes as he watched the altercation take place. 

“‘Loonies’?”

Abraham then gracefully kicked a group of bird-men into a wall.

“Yeah! _ That’s _ what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” said Al, completely ignoring Nippy.

“It is foolish to love violence.”

“Huh? Whatcha say?”

“You are crazy.”

“Ha! And so are you.”

Apparently this was enough of a kick to spur Al from his giddy trance of violence, but it unfortunately put him into a different state of giddiness, one that might be inappropriate, considering their circumstances.

Al was suddenly hovering in front of his face, head tilted and smiling smugly. He continued:

“Don’tcha think I forgot our little adventure in the storage unit, now.”

A prolonged pause. Nippy looked away. “I do not know what you talk about.”

“Oh, yeah, _ right_! Ya think you’re all prudent and uptight and professional and whatever, but when it really comes down to it, you’re a little slu—”

_ “Faire attention!” _(Watch out!)

Napoleon suddenly grabbed a fistful of Al’s suit and shoved him to the ground. Napoleon then ducked, narrowly missing a bird-man flying over where their heads had been just a second ago. It squawked unhappily all the way, bringing Nippy’s big hat with it.

Al, an amused and adrenaline-filled glint in his eyes, sat up and, mirroring what the general had just done, grabbed a fistful of Napoleon’s uniform and yanked him. This ultimately put them in a very funny position, with Al on the floor, sitting up, and Napoleon straddling his lap, a look of wide-eyed surprise on his face.

Al was lazily ecstatic. He leaned back a little, as if lounging, his arms holding him up and his legs slightly apart, looking up at Napoleon with admiration. 

“So ya like to play rough, huh? Finally showin’ me your true colors, are ya?”

“You misunderstand. The bird almost hit us. I am helping, I am not trying to —”

“Oh, c’mon, _ I do not misunderstand_,” Al said, feigning frustration while doing an awful French accent. “You’re _ such _ a riot. _ You’re _ the one who doesn’t understand, Nippy — I’m tryna be, y’know, _ fun_. Like, _ sexy_. Y’know, sexy? Do ya know that word?”

“I am not stupid! I know ‘sexy’!”

Al grinned up at him. “Oh, do you now?”

_ “Pouah! Je ne sais pas de quoi tu parles…” _he said, exasperated. (Ugh! I never know what you’re talking about…) 

“Oh, _ well_,” Al said, a hand rubbing up on Napoleon’s side, “now that ain’t fair, Nippy. Y’know I love it when ya talk French to me…”

Hmm. This gave Napoleon an idea. Disregarding Al’s original plot to seduce him, Al’s primary reason for being interested in him was (1) his French accent, (2) his constant state of frustration, and (3) his inability to understand most things. 

And, thinking back to their _ time _in the storage unit, Al had been very keen on listening to Nippy’s little French quips and incoherent ramblings. He had thought nothing of it at the time, but now…

So, if _ that _ was the case… was it, like… was his French accent, like… a _ turn-on _for Al?

“Al?”

How the hell is he supposed to ask that in English? How does one even _ say _“turned-on”?

“Yeah?”

“Are you… uh, _ excited _by my, um… by my French?”

A prolonged pause. “What are ya sayin’?”

“Do you… like it?”

“Yeah, I like it,” Al said simply. He swallowed thickly. “It’s… it’s funny, I guess.”

Napoleon could tell Al’s throat was dry; the look in his eyes were a little wider than usual, alluding to frightful embarrassment. Ha! The big bad mobster was _ nervous_!

“You _ do _ like it! You _ are _ excited by it!” exclaimed Nippy. _ “Sexually!” _ he added a second later, as if the already-mortified-Al needed the clarification.

“Alright, alright! Y’know, this ain’t the time _ or _ place to be talkin’ about… _ this _sort of business. I mean, anybody could come behind this heap o’ junk at anytime…”

A dastardly smile came upon Napoleon’s lips, and in mock innocence, he placed both arms around Al’s neck and leaned in close. There was an unmistakable change in Nippy’s voice, too — his French accent was all the sudden much thicker, less understandable… 

“Yoo ver not discourage’ bye zhat beh-four.” 

“Hey, hey! Now _ that _should be illegal!” Al said with raised eyebrows and a serious tone, sternly pointing his index finger in Nippy’s face like an angered schoolteacher. 

_ “C'est grave que ça m'excite?” _(Is it wrong that I’m turned on by that?)

Al couldn’t help but chuckle at this little urchin, then groan. He looked up at a smug-faced Nippy. “If ya keep that up, we might have a… uh, a _ problem_.” 

Napoleon arched his back a little, and slightly grinded his hips downward. “What kind of problem?” 

“A… ahh… a _ big _problem.”

Hmm... as long as Nippy talked French smoothly and sexily, Al wouldn’t know — or care, for that matter — what he was actually saying…

_ “Je suis un ananas.” _(I am a pineapple.)

“Mmh…”

Oh, this was just too good! Nippy might’ve been embarrassed if anyone was watching them, though — he was sexy-talking like a woman, speaking fast, higher-pitched, and with a hint of teasing. He would be mortified if his men found him like this, that was for sure.

_“Joyeux Noël. Je vais aller au japon. Je ne parle pas français. Comment va ton père? Pouvez-vous m’aider s’il vous plaît?”_ (Merry Christmas. I’m going to Japan. I don’t speak French. How’s your father? Can you help me, please?)

Al shut Nippy up with a rough kiss, but once he pulled away for much-needed air, the general continued the (fake) foreign dirty-talking of Al’s demise.

_ “Mon petit chou-chou.” _(My little cabbage head.)

_ “Ahh, mi fai impazzire. Facciamolo adesso,” _ Al muttered. (You make me crazy. Let’s do it now.)

Al couldn’t help it. There was something indescribably amazing about speaking to someone while they couldn’t understand you, and vice versa. He also loved accents; the thicker, the better. Ah, the _idea_ of someone speaking to you in your language, abandoning their native tongue just to awkwardly _ communicate_… it was unbelievably alluring.

Napoleon’s lips grazed his own as he spoke, his head ever so slightly tilted sideways. _ “J’ai envie de t’embrasser.” _ (I’d like to kiss you again.)

They were about to kiss, but it was Al, surprisingly, who put a stop to the whole thing. “We should really be gettin’ back out there… I think the birds are finally groupin’ back into that creepy-ass door.”

Napoleon, in his disappointment, momentarily thought about saying, _ “Je suis excitée par ta logique!” _ and kiss him anyway, but thought better of it. That would be crossing the line. He’d keep his mouth shut, for now.

“You are right. Unfortunately.” 

Napoleon stood up and helped Al to his feet. 

“Don’tcha worry, Nippy. I won’t forget ‘bout our little talk after this whole scuffle’s done and over with, I promise ya.”


	6. A la prochaine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is won, but at what cost? What will become of the Smithsonian exhibits now that the tablet will be returned to the Museum of Natural History? Must they really say goodbye?

The ragtag army of Larry’s friends appeared, majestically and fiercely. They descended upon what remained of Kahmunrah’s army — Ivan the Terrible, Amelia Earhart, Napoleon Bonaparte, and all of their respective henchmen. 

At least, that’s what  _ Kahmunrah _ thought. Little did he know — or care to notice — Napoleon ordered his men to attack the Russian soldiers and the hefty pilots, and they obeyed without question.

The battle was intense. The miniatures sliced up a bunch of pilots’ feet, General Custard served as an excellent leader, the Hun attacked like they were born for this, the Neanderthals went bonkers on the Russian soldiers, the Roman and Greek statues even joined the fight, and… 

It was too much to keep track of! Those who sided with Larry now stood a fighting chance now that half of the museum had joined in. 

It didn’t rage on for long. Eventually, Kahmunrah was shoved into the portal to the Underworld — Al was just as awestruck and mutely put a hand over Nippy’s eyes as it happened — and was finally considered dead for good.

What happened next was… complicated. Larry thanked everyone, but he said that the tablet couldn’t stay at the Smithsonian and must return to the Museum of Natural History. Which meant they would never return to life. Ever again.

It was like a slap in the face. Napoleon and Al looked at each other. They’d never see each other again. It would be like dying, so to speak. Napoleon couldn’t help but think:  _ Did I join the wrong side? If I’d just stayed and helped with Kahmunrah, would things have turned out different? _

Now, it was too late. 

Larry bade his farewells. He stocked an airplane he had “borrowed” from Amelia Earhart — who was currently tied up alongside Ivan the Terrible and their henchmen — and filled it with the exhibits originally from the Museum of Natural History. Al and Napoleon, and all of the new friends, would remain.

They watched the plane as it took off. Everyone transfixed on the sky, Al tried to nonchalantly hold Nippy’s hand, but was gently pushed away. The plane then disappeared into the night sky. The spectating exhibits lingered for awhile, as if hopeful, then returned to the Smithsonian. A sense of despair hung in the air.

Napoleon and Al did not walk together. They followed their own people, Napoleon with his French soldiers on their way to the storage unit and Al alongside his mobster buddies on their way to their museum exhibit. 

Without saying it, it was goodbye for now. Forever.

***

Al was nothing less than surprised to awaken one cold night, inside his glass-enclosed exhibit. He saw the same looks of puzzlement on the faces of his friends and the nearby exhibits.

Why were they awake? Had Larry returned with the tablet? How long had it been since the battle? And, most importantly:

“Napoleon?”

Al had excused himself from his buddies, who immediately took to gambling in the middle of the carpeted hallway, and practically  _ ran  _ to the elevator. He had never tapped a button so hard in his life, nor had he listened to damn elevator music with such adrenaline running through his body. His  _ live  _ body.

The elevator doors dully pulled themselves open and Al was a bullet, zooming down the seemingly endless expanse of the storage unit. 

Where were the Frenchmen situated? Napoleon had told him — God, that felt like forever ago! It seemed everyone inside a crate was pounding on it, begging to be let out, to be unlatched… 

He found a cluster of crates labeled  _ Frenchmen_. He browsed until he found it:  _ Napoleon Bonaparte. _ He could hear the damn bastard banging on the lid.

“Hey there, Nippy!” Al said. He couldn’t help the teasing tone in his voice. “How you doin’?”

The banging subsided. A beat of silence dragged on, until:

“You are not funny! Get me out of here, stupid man!”

Ah, even the all too familiar child-level insults were invigorating. Well, they had always been, but now it was even more so!

“Ya call me a ‘stupid man’ and expect me to just get ya outta there?” he mocked. “I’m doin’ ya a big favor, y’know.”

“Al!”

“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to scream that, I assure ya…”

Through the crate, he could hear a deep sigh.  _ “Pouah…” _

“Okay, okay, I getcha,” Al finally assented.

He slid the lid across the crate, revealing Napoleon’s exasperated yet thankful features. The general sat up and placed a hand on his heart, relieved.  _ “Mon Dieu…” _ he breathed.

“What, not even a ‘thank you’ or a ‘hi, Al’?” joked Al, feigning offense. He then rolled his eyes. “Upper-class snob.”

Napoleon regarded him with a gentle twinkle in his eyes. He glanced at the other crates that encased his soldiers, saw that they were still sealed shut, and turned back to Al. He grabbed the sides of the man’s face and kissed him.

When Nippy pulled away, Al leaned into the crate to chase for another kiss, but only managed to touch noses with the elusive general, who apparently had other things on his mind.

“Why are we alive?” Napoleon questioned.

Al sighed and leaned back. So this would be a serious reunion, huh?

“‘Dunno. The first thing I did was come to get ya.”

If Nippy was flattered, he didn’t show it. “Maybe Larry returned with the tablet…” he speculated. “Or could the tablet’s exhibit have been relocated to the Smithsonian?”

“‘Dunno,” Al repeated. “C’mon, let’s go see if we can’t get some information out of the exhibits upstairs.”

He stood up, dusted himself off, and chivalrously held out his hand. Napoleon took it. Soon, they were traipsing through the storage unit that seemingly bore zillions of pathways and forgotten crates.

In the elevator, Al tried to fill the quietness.

“Ya think Larry really came back?”

“No. He would not. He is a dumb, ignorant man.”

“Takes one to know one.”

An elevator music-filled silence spread. Al glanced at Napoleon, who seemed to be deep in thought. 

“I do not know what you say.”

“What? ‘Takes one to know one’?”

“Hmm…” he hummed thoughtfully. He then looked at Al, stumped. “Okay. I do not know. What does it —”

Realization dawned.

Al sniggered as Napoleon crossed his arms and muttered “_crétin”  _ under his breath.

“Aw, don’t be a gal.” He looped an arm around Napoleon. “I’m just havin’ fun with ya.”

“If ‘fun’ is being disrespectful, then you have a lot of ‘fun’ with me.”

Al winked. “Hopefully.”

“Must everything be sexual with you?”

“Do ya want it to be?”

Before he could respond, the elevator doors sprung open and Napoleon was immediately outside of it, leaving Al to follow. 

They asked around until they found the apparent source of the whole ordeal: the new Ancient Egyptian exhibit. 

“Ah, I am correct! The tablet  _ is  _ here!” 

“Whatta ‘bout the other museum? What happened to Larry’s friends?” Al wondered aloud. “I betcha he’ll pull up to the Smithsonian any day now, tryna’ take back that there tablet and restore his lil’ friends.”

“Well, until then…” Nippy trailed off, slightly leaning on Al. 

“Until then,” Al echoed. “Until then.”


	7. Coucou!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al and Napoleon hang out together in the storage unit. Things get a little spicy in more ways than one, and they have a playful discussion about which one’s the girl in the relationship.

Deep inside the storage facility of the Smithsonian, a small occurrence — barely audible to most of the other exhibits, as the storage was teeming with bustling figures and shrieking animals at every corner — a small yelp could be heard echoing through its endless expanse. 

Napoleon was the culprit, and he could not believe what was happening. 

He only stared at Al incredulously, but immediately regretted it. The mobster was a _ child_, for crying out loud — he _fed _off of reactions. How could Nippy be so dim-witted to give him exactly what he wants?

“Eeh-hehehe!” came Al’s inevitable sniggering, his nose scrunching up like a damn swine.

The whole situation barely made sense to Napoleon. The two had been… well, _exploring _the storage unit, so to speak; just taking a little walk down the many concrete pathways, stacks upon stacks of crates dividing the sections. This was so until they — meaning _Napoleon _— spotted a particularly interesting box with a label and a handwritten classification that read: 

_ TX #1839A8: Exposition de produits alimentaires français — en l'an 1600_.

Napoleon was drawn to it because of how sweet it smelled. If wax figures, stone statues, bobble heads, and stuffed animals could come to life, then why couldn’t plastic foods? The fact that it was imported from France and that he could understand the labeling was only a bonus. And even if he was physically unable to eat them, he at least wanted a “looksie” — Al’s wording, not his.

And _ Al_… well, Al had a _different _agenda, as always.

The box was very long and wide; it was also tall, going up to Al’s hips. The way it was positioned, it looked as if someone intended to take it somewhere but had forgotten it on the side of the pathway. The surface was sturdy, the nails and hinges intact, and the scent was enough to make Al’s metaphorical stomach growl.

He watched Napoleon try to figure out how to open the nailed-shut thing. _What a homesick little girl,_ he mused, but stopped mid-thought the moment the general got on his knees to work at the rusted latches.

“Y’know, we only got an hour and a half ‘til sunrise…”

Nippy didn’t even look at him. “How do you know the time?”

“Stole a watch from that shrink we passed earlier — _borrowed_, I mean. I _borrowed _a watch from the shrink,” he corrected.

“Of course you did.” Sarcasm.

Al rolled his eyes; he was getting nowhere. Nippy was too distracted. He’d have to change tactics.

Whistling an inconspicuous tune, he shoved his hands in his pockets and innocently shifted from foot to foot. His thigh brushed up against Nippy’s backside for a moment. This went ignored, of course, but by the third nudge, Nippy let go of the latch.

Napoleon slowly turned around. He looked up at Al. Both of them were painfully aware of the fact that he was still on his knees, so Napoleon stood up to be face-to-face — or, face-to-chin, given his height.

“Yes?” Nippy said.

Al didn’t waste his chance — he stepped closer and loomed, his hands lazily placed on the general’s backside. “What? I didn’t say nothin’.”

“You are like a child. I can tell when you want attention.”

Al grinned and tilted his head to the side. Okay, now _this _was getting somewhere! And all Al had to do was a little nudging! Who knew!

He suddenly clutched his hands on the sides Nippy’s waist and hoisted him up onto the box, both legs on either side of Al’s toro. A small yelp exited the general, and Al couldn’t help but let out a snigger. 

“Eeh-hehehe!” 

Nippy was embarrassed and, above all else, surprised. And maybe a little excited. Nonetheless, he held onto Al’s shoulders for dear life, and involuntarily exclaimed:

_ “Mon Dieu!” _(Oh my god!)

His words quickly died in his mouth, however, when Al roughly kissed him. Greedily appreciated, it escalated into a full-on make out in no time. Al was ecstatic, keeping his hands on either of Nippy’s legs, stroking and pulling them further apart. Napoleon’s arms found themselves romantically encircling around Al’s neck, as if Nippy were a womanly love interest in a sappy film. He kissed Al with a lot more energy than usual. It did not go unnoticed.

As much as he hated to, Al pulled away. “What’s gotten into ya, shortstuff?” he said, playful.

“Why do you say that? I do not understand.”

“You’re never _this_… uh, _into _it, if you catch my drift.”

Nippy blinked. He did not understand in the slightest; Al could see it in his eyes: All he wanted to do was to _keep going_, and Al would be more than happy to obligate, really, but he couldn’t shake how odd everything felt. 

“Y’know, you’re always so prudent and modest. I’ve told ya this before, right? Ya don’t like _givin’ in _so easily…” Al couldn’t resist any longer and kissed him, which was met with wanton appreciation. “Mmf, mm…” To Nippy’s eye-rolling disappointment, he pulled away again. “But, is there — oh, I dunno — any reason why you’re suddenly so… excited?”

”It has only been two nights since the tablet was imported,” he explained simply, as if the very subject bored him to death. “When Larry flew away, I thought we were pretty much dead. I thought I would never see you again.”

Al couldn’t help it — that was the most heartfelt thing he’d ever heard from the general. He couldn’t even muster a teasing joke or a sexual innuendo, he was so taken aback.

Nippy apparently disliked this silence. “You are boring me now,” he deadpanned. “Will you do me or not?”

Al regained his witty composure. “Aw, give me some credit. Is that any way to treat a guy?”

A sudden twinkle in Nippy’s eyes sent fire alarms blaring through Al’s brain, and before he could do anything, the general was already using Al’s greatest weakness of all:

French.

_ “Ahhh, comme il fait beau,” _he cooed. _“Enfin du soleil! C’est bien agréable, vous ne trouvez pas? Je m'en doutais, aussi ne suis-je guère surpris.”_ (Ahhh, it’s so nice out. Sun, at last! It’s so pleasant, don’t you agree? I suspected it, so I’m not entirely surprised.)

Napoleon still couldn’t help but say totally random, unrelated things in French and act as if he were dirty-talking. Old habits die hard, he guessed, but the effects were _always _rewarding.

_“Le president a bien fait d’augmenter les impôts —”_ (The president was right to increase taxes —)

“‘Kay, _that’s_ it.”

He knew very well that he was falling into the little bastard’s trap, but was screwing Napoleon’s brains out on a crate really a “trap”? To him, it seemed more like a fantasy he would have to beg Napoleon for, and then it’d take weeks before the general would finally — _finally _— assent. And now… oh, how the tables have turned!

No matter. As it goes, few garments were discarded. Thrown over their shoulders, so to speak. Nippy smiled and laughed and chuckled all the way. And moaned. And mumbled sweet, involuntary nothings in French. Al had had the time of his life. He was sure Nippy did, too, considering that glazed-over expression he gave afterwards.

“Whew,” Al said, still out of breath. “That was… uh, _woah_.”

Al had barely removed himself from his position between the general’s legs when Napoleon made quick work of slipping his pants back on. _What a prude. _In response, Al bent down to pull his own pants up, too. Nippy was always quick to cover himself up, and hated to expose himself for too long, or even at all. Nonetheless, Al took it as a personal particularity and left it at that. 

“You… you, uh, gonna be able to _walk_?” he teased, looping his belt back on.

“I am able to walk fine! I am not a cripple man!”

“Oh, so _you’re _the man now? I think our lil’ adventure just now proves otherwise, don’tcha think?”

“I do not understand. We” — momentarily, Nippy looked around, as if nervous to say it aloud — “are men.”

“C’mon, ya don’t get it? You were the gal, y’know — the one on bottom. I was the one on top. _ Both _times.”

Napoleon hopped down from the box. It was all Al could manage not to chuckle at the general’s slightly awkward gait. 

“Next time,” he said. “Next time, it is my turn.”

“Yeah?” Al said. He loomed over Nippy. “I don’t think so. You’re short, I’m tall; you’re beneath, I’m on top. That’s how it works.”

“You make no sense.”

“Men’re taller than women. I’m the man in the relationship. You’re the woman.” 

Al’s heart nearly gave out as the words left his lips. They had never so much as acknowledged the word “relationship” before. He wasn’t even sure if he _wanted _to talk about it; he found himself relieved when it went unnoticed by Napoleon.

“But I am a man!”

“I getcha, but we’re talkin’ _in the relationship_. You’re the one who’s gettin’ dogged, and I’m the one doin’ the doggin’. Therefore, _you’re _the dame.”

Al could tell Napoleon was not enjoying this, and he reveled in the attention, but the tables _really _turned when the little bastard suddenly looked straight into Al’s eyes and smiled. “If you do not want to be ‘dogged’, you could just tell me.”

“Hey, wait a second there! I ain’t —”

“I do not mind going on bottom. I like to. But I also do not mind going on top. I just say this so you know. In case you change your mind.”

“Now that ain’t fair!” Al’s greatest fault might be that he never backs down from a challenge. “I didn’t say I’d _never;_ I was just makin’ fun of ya!”

Nippy smiled cheekily. “So you want to?”

“Well, I, uh… hehe… well… _hey! _This ain’t a game of cat and mouse, shorty! I’m not fallin’ for it!”

“That is a no, then?”

“No! Yes! I mean… ugh!” Al put his hands on his hips, exasperated. “Ay, wipe that smile of ya face, this ain’t funny!”

Napoleon held his hand up, hovering his thumb and index finger together, as if pinching a grain of salt. “A little bit.”

“You little —” Al suddenly cut himself off and checked his “borrowed” watch. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit shit shit!” 

“What? What does the watch tell?”

Al suddenly started shoving Napoleon back towards the way they originally came. “It’s five minutes ‘til sunrise!” he exclaimed. “We gotta get ya back to your crate!”

Napoleon rolled his eyes. He slapped Al’s hand away and halted, prompting the same from the mobster. This was the first time he’d ever truly seen Al panicked. He did not enjoy it, to say the least, but someone had to knock some sense into that monochromatic head of his.

“The elevator is that way,” Nippy said, nodding toward the opposite direction. “I will be fine. You are a museum exhibit; you are not in storage, like me. You must hurry up.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I guess…” 

Napoleon sensed the disappointment in his tone and gave him a smile and a lingering, suggestive hand on Al’s forearm. “We can continue this later.”

“Ya don’t gotta tell _me _twice…”

Al quickly kissed him before turning a one-eighty on his heels and jogging the other way, towards the elevator. When he turned a corner, out of sight, Napoleon speed-walked back to his crate. 

His soldiers were already placing themselves in their respective boxes. He sat among the white mothballs and grabbed the lid, ready to get the ordeal of unconsciousness over with. Most of his men had already sealed their own crates shut when one solider — whose name was Pierre — began chatting with his commander.

_ “Comment ça va?” _(How’s it going?)

_ “Je vais bien, merci.”_ (I’m fine, thank you.)

A shit-eating grin spread across Pierre’s face. _“Alors comment va ton petit-amis?” _(So, how’s your boyfriend?)

Silence.

_ “Ferme ta gueule.” _(Shut your animal-mouth.)

Napoleon laid on his back and sealed the lid over himself. It had served the perfect opportunity to rid himself of that awful situation, but at what cost? The crates weren’t thick — his other men had certainly overheard their general being insulted by an inferior and doing nothing about it. What’s more, it _proved _that Al and Napoleon were more than friends. 

He feared to ponder what his soldiers thought, so he assumed his wax figure’s original position and let the daytime put his long-dead soul to sleep.


	8. Chien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al and Nippy get their hands on a map of the Smithsonian and explore a section of the museum. A conversation unfolds that concerns Napoleon’s avoidance of asking questions.

One lazy night, Al and Napoleon strolled around the Smithsonian with one particular destination in mind: the _History of Film_.

Napoleon, being the “smart” one of the duo, nabbed a map of the Smithsonian. Larry was not joking when he said the place was big, that’s for sure. He read aloud the sections, exhibits, details, and descriptions to Al — if they lived in a museum, they might as well explore, right?

After he heard the title, Al decided that he was simply _dying_ to see the _History of Film_ section. Napoleon did not understand; he asked him what a “film” was. 

Cue the long, unceremonious groan.

“It’s hard to explain,” Al sighed. “I don’t even know where to start…”

“That is what museums are for, I suppose.”

Al tilted his head upwards and regarded the general with what Napoleon could only describe as cat-like admiration. “You’re a smart cookie, y'know that?”

_What a strange word of endearment,_ Napoleon thought. _Cookie…_

The _Film_ section proved to be quite the ride for Al. And, what’s more, nearly everyone within the exhibits had a black-and-white color scale, just as he suspected. For once, he didn’t stand out like a sore thumb among his polychromatic peers; Al blended right in with the movie stars and dramatic characters and old-timey outfits and exuberant personalities. It was now Nippy, sporting natural colors of blue and white and red, who was the black sheep. 

Napoleon joked that he would lose Al in this monochromatic mayhem, as if Al were a child that must be babysat. Al only chuckled. He kept his arm securely looped around Nippy as they walked on.

Suddenly, Napoleon exclaimed, “Aw, it’s a little poochie!”

Al jumped in surprise. Alarmed, he looked at the object of Nippy’s attention: a dog. A plain ol’ black-and-white dog, specifically a German Shepherd, if he wasn’t mistaken.

The animal was on a leash, being walked by a man wearing a suit similar to Al’s and the same colorless complexion. Napoleon, excited as a child, asked the owner if he could pet it.

“‘S alright with me.” 

Napoleon kneeled down and gently rubbed behind the dog’s ears. He was completely enamoured with this creature as if it were mythical, and in turn, the dog appeared completely enamoured with him, wagging its tail and letting its tongue hang out. Its breathing proved its excitement. One might think that the dog was getting ready to play an exhilarating game of fetch.

“What is his name?” asked Napoleon.

“Rin Tin Tin. He’s sweetheart, aren’tcha, buddy?” the owner said. He then looked to Al and extended his hand. “The name’s Lee Duncan, at yer service.”

Al shook his hand — he had quite the grip. “You a movie star?”

“Me? Oh, no, no. The only star is Rin Tin Tin here.”

“The… the _dog_?”

“Oh, yeah. ‘Rescued him myself in France during World War I. From then on, I guess you could call me his manager.”

A high-pitched, cutesy voice could be heard repeatedly cooing, “Poochie!” from beneath both of the men.

Lee chuckled and continued, “Rinty here played in twenty-seven silent films. That’s more than most can say. A box-office success, he was. The career was a wild ride, believe me.”

“That’s really somethin’. ‘Dog’s got more talent than a lot of humans, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Lee affirmed.

Napoleon finally jumped back to his feet, covered in wispy strands of dog hair only visible in direct lighting. He hadn’t had enough of the monochromatic poochie yet, but there was a certain etiquette to follow when greeting another person's dog. He didn’t wish to overstay his welcome.

Lee and Rin Tin Tin bade their small farewells and ambled off, disappearing into the bustling, cigarette smoke-filled crowd of silent film stars and old-timey celebrities. 

“We should come here more often…” Al suggested. “I could get behind some of these people. ‘Blend right in, too.”

Al laced his arm back around Nippy and lightly pushed him along, as if serving as a reminder to keep on walking. He delicately picked off a strand of gray dog hair from Nippy’s coat.

“Didn’t know you were a dog person.”

“Are you insulting me?”

Al’s brain seemed to short circuit, then he threw his head back and howled in laughter. “Nah! You’re killin’ me! You’ve never heard of dog people and cat people?” 

Nippy deftly shook his head.

“Aw, man! How don’t ya know? What’re they teachin’ ya in France? Okay, okay: A dog person is just someone who likes dogs. A cat person likes cats. It’s usually an either-or thing, if ya catch my drift: you’re either a dog person or a cat person.”

“Oh, okay,” Napoleon said. “I am a dog person, then.”

“Yeah.” Al couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, sweet Jesus, I’ve said it before but _you_, sir, are a riot. It’s just insane.”

Napoleon revelled in the praise, even if he did not fully understand. He had already misinterpreted one English phrase, and he could only do that so many times before it would presumably become annoying. At least, that’s what he told himself. In an attempt to be less of a foreign nuisance, he made sure to limit his questions to every other night.

“Thank you.”

“Do you know what it means?”

Nippy did not look at him, smiling nervously. “I… uh, yes. It is fine. I know. No need to explain.”

This did not satisfy Al. The duo was nearing the end of the dark lighting of the big long hallway of the _History of Films_ exhibit. At the end of the hallway, other exhibits — much more colorful than their neighbors — were displayed, their elaborately-clothed occupants mucking about. Between these two worlds, Al stopped in his tracks, dragging Nippy with him.

“No need to explain?” he echoed. He was both serious and light-hearted. “Okay, then. Tell me what it means.”

“What…?”

“Ya said that ya know what it means. So I’m askin’ ya, what does it mean?”

“That I am a… riot — it means that I, um… I am…”

“Napoleon…”

“No, give me a second. Um…”

“C’mon, it’s fine. Ya don’t gotta know everythin’.”

Nippy assented. “I guess so.”

“So when I say things ya don’t understand, why don’tcha just ask what it means?”

“You will be annoyed. Too many questions,” he said.

“I don’t mind. C’mon, ask me somethin’. Ask me ‘bout a phrase I’ve said before that ya didn’t know. I wanna help ya.”

Napoleon thought for a moment. There were so many… 

“A few nights ago, you say… you say_ ‘ya turn me on’_,” he said, doing an awful imitation of Al’s Italian-American way of speaking. “I do not know what you meant. You are not a lamp.”

If Al had been drinking a glass of water at the exact moment those words left Nippy’s lips, he would’ve spat it out. He barely suppressed a snort.

“Well…” Al began.

This was going to be a _long_ night.


	9. Écureuil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al makes fun of Napoleon’s awkward pronunciation of an English word. Napoleon, as per usual, is less than impressed and demands an apology. Larry also drops by, but at a very… intimate moment between the duo.

“Hey, Nippy. I want ya to say somethin’ for me.”

Napoleon was in the process of exiting his crate when Al greeted him. A wide grin flashed across his face, as it always did when he saw Al, but the vague instructions brought a slight frown.

“Yes?”

“And ya have to say it, ‘kay? No tough guy modesty today, yeah?”

Al was kneeling in front of the crate, his elbows against the surface, looking at Napoleon with those catty eyes. He would’ve been much closer to the general if the French soldiers weren’t still loitering around their boxes, lowly speaking amongst themselves. 

“You make me uneasy, Al,” he said uncertainly. “First, can you help me up?”

“Oh, sure.”

He took Napoleon’s hand and he was out of the stingy, mothball-scented crate in no time.

“Okay, okay.” Al breathed in. 

The anticipation was killing Napoleon. He braced himself.

_“Squirrel.”_

Oh. That was… unexpected.

“Uh, okay. I… um, could you… could you repeat that?”

“Squirrel.”

“Um…”

“C’mon, say it!” Al watched him intently. “I ain’t droppin’ the subject ‘til ya say it!”

“Sk… _skwee_ — _skwee-roo_… sk, sk…” Napoleon attempted awkwardly. He flushed pink. “Skwoo…”

As routinely as the Earth’s orbit around the sun, Al Capone let out a sniggering,_ “Eeh-hehehe!”_ at yet another one of Napoleon’s embarrassments.

“Hey! You are insulting me!” Nippy exclaimed. “It is difficult to speak English! I cannot know everything!”

“I’m just messin’ with ya.”

“No! You try to speak French!”

“Sure, hit me with your best shot, little man,” Al said confidently, as if Napoleon was talking of child’s play. “How hard can it be?”

_“Écureuil.”_

A beat of silence. Napoleon could pinpoint the exact moment that the confident twinkle in Al’s eyes snuffed itself out and lit a new flame: Defense of dignity.

“I ain’t sayin’ that!”

“You make me say your word, why not say mine?”

“It’s different! I don’t speak a lick o’ French!”

“Why do you say ‘lick’? I never say anything about ‘lick’! You never have any sense!”

“It’s an English expression, French Toast! You’d know if you spoke English good!” Al exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. “And it’s ‘you never _make_ any sense’!”

“‘…if you spoke English _well_’.”

_“What?”_

“You say ‘you’d know if you spoke English _good_.’ That is wrong. You must say ‘…if you spoke English _well_.’”

“What even… _who_…!” Al could barely contain his frustration, and Napoleon’s minutely inconvenienced composure didn’t help. “What’re ya — the grammar police? Who the hell _cares_!”

“You say my English is wrong, then I say your English is wrong.”

“I didn’t say your English was wrong, I was just’ laughin’ at how ya say ‘squirrel’, and then ya thought I actually meant ‘lick’ as in… _licking_,” he said. “Ya get mad so easily… it’s hard not to take advantage of it sometimes, y’know?”

“Are you… apologizing?”

“What? _No!_” Al exclaimed, but calmed himself. “I was just explainin’ myself. I can’t very well kiss ya if you’re mad at me, now can I?”

Napoleon did not falter when Al leered in front of him, his hands encircled around him, touching at the small of his back, herding him closer. Napoleon held his chin up. “Say you are sorry.”

“Aw, didn’t I just do that?”

“Say you are sorry.”

Al looked away, as if to say “This guy, amirite?” to someone, but he was alone in this. He couldn’t fall back on a buddy that would support him no matter what shit he did; he had to face this head-on, to apologize for being rude to someone he loves.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Napoleon smiled. He grabbed the sides of Al’s face and kissed him slowly, sweetly. 

Al played along for a good duration of the kiss, but, always one for ruining a tender moment, let his left hand drift lower and give a good squeeze to Napoleon’s behind.

The muffled noise Nippy made was _priceless_. Oh, he coulda nearly _imagine_ the way his general opened his eyes as Al kissed him, wide and startled and embarrassed. Al felt him pull away. He braced himself for a swift slap across the cheek, but all he got was a semi-powerful shove to the chest. 

“Stupid American boy!”

“Aw, c’mon. What’d I do, huh? It was only a bit o’ fun. Lighten up, would ya?”

“I do not understand anything you say to me.”

He stepped back into Napoleon’s bubble and resumed the placement of his hands. _“Anything?”_

“Nothing.”

He leaned closer, his playful face, once again, chasing after Nippy’s unimpressed one until he got himself another kiss. He had to hold the back of Napoleon’s head in place to secure a nice, rough French kiss — no pun intended.

“You’re cute when ya get all flustered.”

“You are cute when become angry.” 

“I ain’t angry. I just like talkin’ loud, ‘that a crime?”

Al could see Nippy progressively grow conscious of what they just did; he peered around the room, searching for his soldiers, Al’s goons, anyone who might be lurking. Thankfully, they were nowhere in sight. His soldiers must’ve ambled off a little bit ago, leaving their general to deal with Al’s new lunatic idea of the day… 

And yet, there remained a voice in the back of his head, the one telling him that his soldiers could still be nearby… that Pierre could be waiting to prove Napoleon and Al were more than just friends, to humiliate him. But… 

_Pouah!_ Who the hell _cared_ at this point? Pierre and the others could make fun of him behind his back all they wanted! It was Napoleon who was having fun, who was getting laid, not them!

“Don’t worry ‘bout ‘em,” Al said, as if reading his mind. “They ain’t here. We’re alone.”

“You are right.”

Then Nippy said something crazy — although, by Napoleon’s standards, “crazy” could mean anything from eating lunch at eleven o’clock to a stinging slap in the face:

“If you are up for it…” he said, patting the inside of the crate. 

And then the modest, prudent French general did the most immodest, imprudent thing he’d ever done: he said, “There is plenty of room on top. Just for you.”

Without so much as a warning, Al gently pushed Napoleon backwards into the crate, who laid back with the sleaziness of a strip club-goer about to get a lap dance. Except, in this case, a lap dance was Al’s unceremonious climb on top. He straddled him. Nippy found that it was quite enjoyable to be in a small space with Al manhandling him, and he felt a tug in his military uniform.

“I am glad you have easy ‘turn-on’...” Nippy mumbled. Al assumed he meant something along the lines of _I’m glad you’re easily turned on_, but English was a difficult language — Al should know.

“It’s constant, baby. What else’m I gonna do in a museum with a guy like ya?”

Nippy then did something that made Al’s heart go kablooey: he _giggled_. A flat-out, nose-scrunching, hand-over-mouth_ giggle_. He then followed it up with sarcasm of the purest kind. “Ahh, you are such a romantic!” 

“Ya know it.” He winked.

A sudden, familiar voice echoed through the storage facility, stopping them in their tracks. It was along the lines of: “Oh, Al, is that you —_ oh my God_!”

Al and Napoleon turned their heads to find none other than Larry standing in the middle of the pathway. The night guard was flabbergasted; haunted, even.

“Oh, thank God it’s just you,” Al said, relieved.

“Oh my God! I was coming down here to say hi, but I’ll — um, I’ll visit later!” Larry said nervously, too quickly, avoiding the sight of the two incarnations of prominent historical figures. “Yeah, uh, I’ll — I’ll see ya when you’re… you’re, uh… not doing _that_.”

And he was gone.

Al, because of the initial shock of someone walking in on them, had taken to practically laying on top of Nippy, as if to stay out of sight. He lifted himself up a tad and looked down at Napoleon. “What was that all ‘bout?”

“I do not know. Strange man.”

Then Napoleon, his hands resuming their process of running through Al’s messed-up hair, whispered into his ear:

“When is sunrise?”

He checked his watch. “‘Few hours.”

“Good.”


	10. Sommeil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al and Napoleon find a sixteenth century European canopy bed exhibit in a relatively remote section of the museum. Cuddling ensues.

Al felt like a total creep. At any given time he’d humorously admit that he was, but this — _this _crossed the line. He couldn’t believe himself, and yet here he was, _watching_ Napoleon sleep.

To be fair, they were in bed _together_. It wasn’t like Al had broken in through the window, uninvited; Nippy _wanted_ him there. Hell, he was the one who had the _idea _to come here. That _had_ to make it less weird, right? _Right?_

The bed in which they resided was apart of the _Medieval Europe Lifestyle_ exhibit. According to the plaque, it was a recreation of a sixteenth century canopy bed of a European nobleman. The exterior was quite ornate, with carved designs on the headboard and posts and extravagant fabric that draped down to the hardwood floor. It also gave them much-appreciated privacy.

Not that anyone was around to see.

One bonus to the _Medieval Europe Lifestyle_ section: No wax figures or anything resembling a human or animal was present. Ever. This portion of the exhibit seemed totally devoid of life.

Al felt like such a prude as he thought about how thankful he was for the lack of people. Well, who _wouldn’t_ want a little privacy when cuddling with their… uh, with their… 

Okay, so he hadn’t exactly worked out all the details of their “relationship” yet. As much as he enjoyed the unspoken bond they had, he couldn’t help but think about it. For instance, what would they even call themselves? _Boyfriends?_ He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, considering Al was in his thirties and Napoleon… well, he didn’t know how old _he_ was… but to call him a _spouse _or a _significant other_ sounded kinda lame, too.

A light mumble came from Napoleon’s sleeping figure, snapping Al from his trance. _“Il fait un froid de canard…”_ (It’s freezing cold…”)

Al’s head lifted from the pillow and he trained his eyes on the back of the dozing general’s head. He had such dark brown hair. In his sleep, Nippy looked so peaceful, such a stark contrast to his usual state of 24/7 frustration. Al hadn’t taken him for a guy who talked in his sleep, but that’s what friends are for, right? 

_Friends_ did not sound like the right label, either.

_“…faire crac crac boum boum…”_

Al laid his head back down, the soft pillow sinking him deeper. He listened to the unconscious ramblings as if he were lamely enjoying a good jazz tune. Then, it stopped. A few silent moments passed; Al grew restless. He decided he needed a change of position and possessively slung an arm around his _man_ — nope, still not the right term — and let their bodies press even closer together underneath the covers.

Not two minutes passed before Al wanted yet another reposition. He shifted, blunging his nose into Napoleon’s neck and nibbling at it.

_“Mmmm.”_

Al pulled away and settled back into spooning him. He grew hot; he could _feel_ their body heat mingle and exchange, especially the pooling of heat to his nether regions… 

_“Hier on s’est envoyés en l’air comme des lapins… mmmm…”_ (Yesterday we were sent in the air like rabbits… mmmm…)

”Woah, yer talkative, aren’tcha?”

_“Arrête… arrête ton char.”_

(Stop… stop the chariot.)

Al would give anything to know what Napoleon was going on about although, judging by his small groans and contented sighs, it seemed like he was having a pleasant dream. Al felt content just listening, just hearing the tone, the accent, the pitch, the everything — he hoped it was him that Napoleon dreamed of.

And then Napoleon _shifted_, and oh, what consequences were brought forth. With an alarming amount of sleep-driven force and a contented exhale, the little man thrust himself backwards, pressing up against Al’s front. Key word: _A lot_ of force. There was a tonof pressure going on between Al’s crotch and his _lover’s _— okay, that term just sounded weird — ass.

He couldn’t help it — he needed friction or he would die. Unfortunately for him, the _second_ Al thought _Fuck it _and began to softly grind against Napoleon, the general unceremoniously awoke. Just his luck! It scared the living shit out of Al to hear very coherent, very awake English being spoken to him.

“I close my eyes for one minute and you already try to do me.”

He immediately quit grinding. “Sorry…”

Much to Al’s disappointment, Napoleon wiggled out of his arms. He made a noise of disapproval, although released him from his grip and watched him sit up. Napoleon then looked down at the mobster — it was such a suggestive, sleepy stare that Al was unsure how to react. That is, until Napoleon, on his _hands and knees_, climbed on top of Al to straddle his waist. “Did I tell you to stop?” He leaned down for a kiss; things got so heated that Al could not manage enough self-restraint any longer and full-on bulldozed the general to the other side of the bed. They landed with a cushioned _thump!_ onto the mattress. Al was now on top, Napoleon’s legs on either side of him.

They laughed like tattling schoolgirls all the way.

_“Hehe! Ahh, tu me fais me sentir si bien!_” Nippy exclaimed. (Hehe! Ahh, you make me feel so good!)

“Ya should crawl on your hands and knees for me more often…”

With most of their garments removed prior, it was easy to begin, but this time was… it was _different_. A _good_ different. It was slower, more passionate, less rushed… This was their first time shagging in an actual bed, after all. Their only experiences before this had been done hurriedly on cold floors in semi-public areas, trying to hide, trying to be quiet, to go unnoticed… 

But they didn’t _need_ to be quiet this time. They didn’t _have_ to be. Oh, and what a delight it was!

_“P-plus fort, plus f-f-fort…!”_

Al was lost in what he could only describe as utter delirium. No, complete _ecstasy_. He nestled his head between Napoleon’s head and shoulder, hotly breathing into his neck. He’d never felt this way before, especially with a short French general sobbing God knows what in his ear. 

It drove him bonkers. He thrusted harder, sloppier, erratic, out of control —

As always, all good things must come to an end. 

They laid there for a moment, just enjoying the rabbit-like beating of their hearts. Al, now calmed down, pulled out and tumbled off of Napoleon, sliding onto the sheets next to him. He turned to his side and propped his head up by his elbow, gazing at _la sua compagno_ — then and there, he decided he was pretty comfortable with _compagno_, the Italian word for a “companion”. 

Anyway, Napoleon had the oddest sense of peace radiating from him that Al had ever seen in a man; his brown eyes peered up at the canopy bed’s fabric ceiling, glazed and mute. He looked so young. Perhaps he wasn’t as old as Al had previously guessed…

Al couldn’t say he felt too bad about shattering that peacefulness with an eye-rolling, irritating little pick-up line: “So, ya come ‘round here often?”

The foreseen sigh escaped him. “You are too much.”

“Haha! Where’d ya learn to say that?”

“Amelia.”

_“Earhart?”_

“Yes.”

“What, is she yer girlfriend now or somethin’?” he said, a little _too_ protectively.

The look Napoleon shot him was indescribably cute — a winsome smile fit for a woman’s face.

“You are jealous.”

“No, I ain’t! I was jus’ jokin’ ‘round!”

“Oh, you jealous American boy…”

“Get outta here with that! I ain’t a boy!”

Napoleon sighed happily, staring at Al with a twinkle in his eyes. “She is not my girlfriend. I am twice her age,” he explained. “I see her in the… uh, the… the airplane exhibits. She is nice to me.”

“Oh yeah! Ya never seen an airplane before, huh?” Al leaned closer, as if telling a dirty secret. “What’s it like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know, seein’ an airplane for the first time is prettt excitin’. Ya must’ve been blown away!”

“Yes, I was very… _blown away_, as you say.”

“I bet,” he muttered. “Speakin’ of _blown away…_”


	11. Compilation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A compilation of four little snippets of life at the Smithsonian for our small general and our tricky mobster.

They had just returned from a meeting. The entire occupancy of the Smithsonian was present. Larry organized and served as the main speaker for the event; once he got everyone seated and somewhat paying attention, he set a few basic rules and asked what would make everyone’s nightlife easier and what could be done to avoid conflicts. Larry droned on and on and on about maintaining peace between exhibits, especially the ones who had bad blood with each other. The meeting, in retrospect, was essentially a call for the full cooperation and unity of the Smithsonian. 

And throughout the _ entire _ meeting, none other than the rule-thumping little Napoleon insisted Al to stay for _ all _of it. “It is important!” he had hissed. They had sat next to each other in a row of chairs that Larry had painstakingly set up for the momentous occasion — beside Al and Napoleon, Duncan Lee sat to their right with Rin Tin Tin at his feet; Bessie Coleman, who they knew to be Amelia’s good friend, sat to their left. 

This being so, Al was on his best behavior. Napoleon’s orders. 

_ More like the _ wife’s _ orders, _he thought, suppressing a snort behind his hand. 

Even so, he simply _ couldn’t _ sit still — the whole damn thing was a drag! Most of the rule-negotiating didn’t even apply to him and Nippy, save a few recommendations for Mr. Capone’s buddies to _ please _ stop teasing the Nordic Vikings — _ hey! _ You won’t be laughing when your fake guns won’t be much use against five angry men with war axes and swords!

Napoleon eventually assented to Al’s complaints and they slipped out, unnoticed, just as Larry began talking about the little wars going on between the statues of philosophers from the East and West.

They escaped to an empty hallway. Al planted himself against the wall, sighing with relief. Napoleon watched him like he was the most ridiculous creature he ever saw.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

_ “That.” _

“What is ‘that’?”

Al let out a groan. 

While Al regathered himself from the _ strenuous _ and _ awful _meeting, Napoleon turned away to observe the paintings that lined the walls. 

“We should return so we do not miss any —”

Suddenly, he felt two arms wrap around his waist as Al hugged Napoleon from behind. He bent down to rest his chin on Nippy’s shoulder.

“I may love ya, but if I gotta sit through _ two _ more seconds of that meeting, I _ will _ kick your ass.”

“I do not know what you talk about,” Napoleon said, as if he were totally indifferent to the man pressed up behind him. “And what is this you say about kicking my ass?”

“Well, not _ kicking_…”

***

“Al, stop it!”

His words dripped with mockery, sarcasm. Lighthearted teasing. “Ya lied to me, Nippy. How could ya? How could ya _ do _ this to me?”

“What are you saying? You never asked!”

Al looked away dramatically. He knew he should probably quit this — Napoleon was getting pretty upset — but he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to make fun of him, especially when the scoop was _ this _delicious. 

“I’ve been duped. Tricked. Betrayed. By my own _ companion_, nonetheless.”

“Well, it is obvious that I am not _ young_…”

“But I didn’t know you’re _ that _old!”

A harmless shove. “Hey!” 

“Okay, okay,” Al finally assented, dropping the “betrayed” act. “I’m just teasin’ ya. I don’t actually care.”

“You do not?”

“Nah. I think it’s pretty hot, actually.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, that’s a pretty wide age difference, if ya ask me —” he began. 

“Fifty is not _ that _ old!”

“I’m supposed to be in my thirties! That’s like a… a twenty year age gap. That ain’t small. But it’s alright… you’re like my little… my little sugar momma.”

“I do not understand.”

”Allow me to explain…”

***

“Al, you squeeze me too tight! You wake me up!”

“Oh, embodiment of my fantasies. You, a —”

“Not this again…”

“— man of pure sunlight. Me, a man of pure garbage.”

“Al, stop.”

“Love of my life, fire of my loins. To spoon ya is to feel infinity, and as I, your humble servant, spoon ya, I feel beyond infinity.”

“Please let me sleep.”

“The shortest, cutest mouse an ugly cat like me ever saw. I might be big and strong, but you’re small and smart and _ perfect_.”

“I am not a —”

“Your radiance shines for miles, for eons, for the entire world to bask in.”

“Al —”

“Your beauty is unrivaled, but your ass proves a conquerable feat by none other than —”

_ “Al.” _

“What?”

“I am trying to _ sleep_.”

“Ya don’t need sleep, Nippy. We’re supposed to be _ alive _ at night, remember?”

“I am tired.”

“How? We basically sleep durin’ the entire daytime!”

“We are basically _ dead _ during the entire daytime!”

“You’re basically a two-year-old during the entire _ night_time!”

“_ I _ am the two-year-old?”

“Good point.”

“Get off — let me sit up.”

“Fine.”

“_Thank you._ We did not visit the canopy bed _ all week_. A week is one-hundred-and-sixty-eight hours. Excluding the daytime, it is eighty-four hours. That is a long time to go without sleep. Hence, I am tired.”

“Okay, okay, I gotcha. You’re an old man who likes math; who let grandpa out of the nursin’ home?”

“What?”

“Lay down, I’m cold.”

“You are so annoying.”

“And you are so warm.”

***

The sixteenth century canopy bed in the _ Medieval Lifestyle _exhibit soon became their little once-a-week getaway. Much compromising was needed between the two to plan this. Al called it their “lazy day” or “lazy night,” accounting for the fact that they were only alive at night; he sometimes dubbed it “cuddle time,” though the bed wasn’t the only place they cuddled.

Currently, Napoleon was sitting up, his hands running through Al’s dark hair. Al, in turn, had his head laying on Nippy’s upper thigh and his body horizontal on the bed, as if he were receiving therapy.

Napoleon enjoyed the way he purred like a cat. Al enjoyed the way he _ felt _like a cat.

“You’re the best pillow,” he mumbled.


	12. Grande rou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inhabitants of the Smithsonian escape for one night to explore a nearby carnival. Al and Napoleon have a romantic time on the ferris wheel while Larry is left to round everyone up and ensure their safety. Easier said than done.

All hell broke loose in the Smithsonian. Big deal. That pretty much happened every hour of every night — in such a massive, history-rich building, it was nearly impossible to avoid. Larry should know; he imposed every rule, guideline, regulation imaginable, based off of serious amounts of research done on nearly  _ all  _ of the exhibits.

Sure, troublesome occurrences were frequent — sue him! — but everything was always put back into place eventually. Nothing derailed Larry from his role as the museum's caretaker. As the sole person aware of the tablet’s magical yet potentially dangerous properties, he had to be prepared for the worst. Along with help from a few knowledgeable exhibits, any problems could be fixed; any disagreements, any hostilities, any conflicts, any —

Larry watched as nearly of the exhibits rushed out of the Smithsonian’s front doors at full speed. Oh, goddamn… This particular “troublesome occurrence” would be a… big job.

Correction: He was now the  _ only _ one who could fix everything.

Larry didn’t want to get into the mind-numbing logistics behind the revived historical wax figures’ countability as actual people — mentally, yes, but physically, not so much. Unfortunately, that didn’t matter because, be it man or wax figure, Larry was still the only one working to clean this mess up. 

From his understanding, there had been some sort of giant carnival near the Smithsonian — or was it a festival? “Oh, what’s the difference!” he muttered to himself. Whatever the celebration was, it looked like a big one. 

Larry could picture what imbedded itself into the exhibits’ minds as they distantly watched from the solemnity of the museum: Fun! Laughter! Glamor! Color — reds, yellows, greens, blues, pinks, oranges, purples! Liveliness!  _ Energy!  _ — a keyword describing what their lives were currently lacking.

The inhabitants had practically pressed their noses up against the glass windows to catch a glimpse of this faraway, nightly celebration… 

This considered, an escape plan wasn’t far-fetched at all. The museum had recently hit a new low; Larry blamed himself. Its inhabitants had grown bored with the same old dreary hallways, the same old still-life exhibits, the same old window view of the night sky, and the same old Larry, also known as the Supreme Rejector of Fun & Happiness. 

Inevitably, a wide-scale depression washed over the musuem like a hard-hitting tsunami. Nobody was spared.

Even Napoleon and Al — the Museum's Ultimate Power Couple — fell victim to its crushing waves. That was a hard-hitter. Larry wasn’t even sure they particularly liked him, but he nonetheless grew fond of the guys and their weird shenanigans and upfront affections. And yes, he thought begrudgingly. They are admittedly cute together; however, not even Napoleon and Al were spared from the temptation of leaving the drab museum… 

The recent “breach of security” in the museum was such a pain! It gave Larry a headache. All the work he’d have to do! 

Some could call it a stampede of historical figures beelining into the real world at full speed, others could call it a riot of crazy escapees from a psych ward storming Washington, D.C., but one thing was for certain: 

Larry had a lot to do before sunrise.

***

The inhabitants of the Smithsonian’s unceremonious choice to attend a carnival was a little more _ planned _ and _ prepared for _than Larry would’ve liked to know. 

Al and Napoleon were no exception. The opportunity of a one-night escape into the modern world was all they could think about. Their excitement could hardly be contained. It was so much so that they decided to do a little sprucing up for the occasion.

“How do I look?”

“Your tie’s all wrong. Here,” Al said. He corrected Napoleon’s crooked necktie. “Jesus, it’s like ya never worn a suit before.”

“The suits were different in the 1800s.”

Al tightened the necktie. “There ya go,” he affirmed. “You’re all set, pumpkin.” 

Al stepped back to admire his handiwork. The necktie was as perfect as a guy could get it, he supposed, but the rest of the suit looked swell on Napoleon. This was his first time seeing him without his fancy-pancy general outfit or his funny little hat. Al was glad there were extra suits lying around on the faceless mannequins in the _ History of Film _exhibit, or they’d be out of luck.

Al thought back to the plaque. He had skimmed the one in front of the suit’s display — before he snatched the clothing — with pride; whoever Humphrey Bogart was, he wore a stunning suit in the ‘40s movie _ Casablanca_. Thank God the actor had similar measurements to Nippy.

“I am a modern man now, no?” Napoleon said, grinning down at himself. If Al hadn’t known better, he’d say the general was tipsy. What else besides alcohol could make such a man so giddy and giggly?

“Well, you’re a 1940s man, at least. Be thankful we found a suit that fits ya.”

“But do I fit in with the modern men?”

“Eh, I dunno. Haven’t been out in the modern world myself.”

“Larry is modern. Does he not dress like this?”

“How should I know? I can’t with that guy. He’s always prancin’ ‘round in that stupid night guard uniform,” Al dismissed. “Speakin’ of Larry, he’s gonna be _ so _pissed — I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes we’re all gone!”

Napoleon shushed him, as if the night guard could be lurking around any corner, but chuckled all the same. “Do not awaken the whole museum, Al!” 

_ The ol’ ball and chain, _ Al thought. _ ‘Never getta do what _ I _ wanna do… _

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Napoleon turned around and snatched a brimmed hat, much like Al’s, off of the dresser. “Now it is complete,” he said, placing it onto his head like a king’s crown. 

“If you weren’t so colorful, you’d fit right in with me ‘n the boys.” 

Al playfully tipped Nippy’s hat downwards to such an extent that only Napoleon’s mouth was visible. Nippy only laughed and put it back into place; he was in too good a mood to grow frustrated over such petty things. Al couldn’t say he hadn’t been looking forward to rufflin’ his feathers a bit, but it wasn’t much of a loss — to see Napoleon so joyous was entertaining in itself.

__

“How long do we have?”

__

Al checked his watch. “Ten minutes. Excited?”

__

“Very.” The ear-to-ear grin on his face was priceless. “Let us go to the doors now! It is good to be early…”

__

“Okay, okay, _ someone’s _a little too excited. Just hold your horses for a sec, no need to hurry,” Al said. 

__

He slipped his hands under Napoleon’s suit, feeling the white button-up beneath, and pulled him close. He stole a kiss. Napoleon all but returned it, and Al devised a devious little scheme: He leaned into Napoleon’s neck, lips grazing against his ear, and whispered some very inappropriate suggestions, only half-joking; he did this so teasingly and with such a grin that Napoleon couldn’t help but giggle. Encouraged by the positive feedback, Al kept going. Little convulsing pleas of _“Mon Dieu, Al!”_ and “Stop!” echoed through the room.

__

As quickly as it started, Al ceased his dirty talk in order to let Napoleon breathe; the general had been laughing so hard that his lungs could barely inhale any oxygen. 

__

“Oh, how can I not be excited? You tell me so much about carnivals. I am excited to see one for the first time.”

__

“You’re gonna just _ love _it. I’m gonna take you on a ferris wheel and you’re gonna piss your little girly pants when ya see how high up it goes, I promise ya.”

__

The expression totally went over Napoleon’s head, but the mention of a promise did perk his ears up. He stared at Al with this admiration in his eyes, and he pressed their suavely-clothed chests together, and stole a kiss of his own.

__

***

__

Larry checked his watch. He had all the time in the world, it would seem. Al time he needed to recapture hundreds of crazies traipsing through Washington, D.C. If only he could find a few _ sane _ exhibits to help him round up some of the more — he glanced at five Nordic Vikings going ballistic with their weapons on a parked car — _difficult _ones.

__

_ Ugh. _He rolled up his sleeves. He’d researched these Vikings; surprisingly enough, they weren’t too different from Larry’s first encounter with Attila the Hun and his men.

__

It was going to be one _ long _ night.

__

***

__

_ “Mon Dieu!” _ (Oh my god!)

__

The ferris wheel began to… to _ move_. On its own. Up, up, up it went! Napoleon had never been aboard such a contraption; he startled at every _ creak! _ the mechanical arms made, every _ oomp! _ of the box they sat in, every _ “Hahaha!” _of the neighboring ferris wheel-riders.

__

Al was both a blessing and a curse; Napoleon was thankful to be beside him, but it was Al’s fault that he was in this terrifying machine in the first place! 

__

Even so, he clung to Al in such a way that any onlooker would have no obstacles in discerning the nature of their relationship. Al didn’t care and leisurely kicked back, putting one arm around Napoleon while the other hand held his definitely-not-stolen caramel apple to his mouth. Napoleon watched Al like a child at the doctor’s; he only clung tighter.

__

“You’re such a pussycat,” Al remarked, licking the treat. “I’ve been on one o’ these things before, for cryin’ out loud. Really, it’s no biggie.”

__

“That is easy for you to say…”

__

“Okay, okay.” Al let go of Napoleon, who was less than pleased, and turned his body to face the momentous world behind them. “C’mon, lookit.”

__

Napoleon did as he was beckoned and gazed upon the brilliant spectacle before them:

__

Confetti seemed to rain from the sky. Banners of reds, yellows, oranges, and pinks hung across buildings and trees and powerlines, held by thick white rope. The ground was littered with plastic junk that sparkled along with the cement’s perspiration. People, with their modern clothes and face paint and outlandish hair and unapologetic laughter, lined the carnival like ants. These _ beautiful _people, they were flung around in nauseating rides, stood in line with their friends, played rigged games with their family, ate delicious junk food with their siblings, carried their small children on their shoulders, and gave sweet little kisses to their spouses… 

__

_ Modern humans,_ Napoleon thought, incredulous. 

__

_ “Comme c’est beau…” _ (How beautiful…)

__

“And look,” Al continued. 

__

Napoleon tore his eyes away from the carnival to look at Al, their faces nearly touching. Al only smiled and pointed a finger upwards. Both of their gazes followed suite.

__

The sky was a perfect blue-black. Stars were only clustered dots and clouds were only bluish purple puffballs. Napoleon swore he could see red balloons distantly floating away.

__

Al couldn’t help but stare, but not at the sky.

__

Napoleon’s grin was too cute. No matter what, it always managed to have that unintentional smugness, that I-know-something-you-don’t about it. And his eyes — they looked upon the sky like the moon was God himself.

__

“Hey, we’re at the top,” he noticed. 

__

Napoleon peered back out at the world. They were so high that the carnival was only a small colorful spectacle, the real black-blue expanse of Washington, D.C. everywhere else.

__

Al slung an arm around Napoleon and put the other hand on his shoulder in order to make the man face him. “Y’know, I kinda wish we’d never kissed before, ‘cause this is the perfect spot to have a first —”

__

He was cut off by Napoleon surging forward and kissing him. If their lives were a stupid little indie movie, this exact moment would be the uplifting climax in the orchestra’s romantic song.

__

It was just so sweet — Napoleon gently laced his hands through Al’s hair, the shiny coat of gel ruined. Their chests pressed together and they had gotten so carried away that Napoleon was nearly sitting on Al’s lap. It never grew heatedly rough, never lustfully wanton, never with ulterior motives.

__

When they pulled away, they was no harsh breathing. No sexy one-liners, no French dirty talk, no suggestive expressions. Napoleon just kind of regarded him, and Al wondered if that smug little face wasn’t smug at all, if it was just what Napoleon looked like when he was happy.

__

And then he giggled. It was one of those girly giggles, one of those hearing-a-dirty-secret giggles, one of those hand-over-mouth giggles. And then Napoleon hugged his arms around either side of Al and put his lips to his ear.

__

“You taste like caramel.”

__

Al smiled. He kissed Napoleon again — a peck, really — and again and again and again until the general was a laughing mess. He could hardly manage a playful _ “Arrête ça!” _(Stop that!) and repeated it several times, to which Al was only more invigorated. 

__

Finally, without knowing it, he assented to Napoleon’s involuntary French pleas.

__

Napoleon wiped away a tear. “You are too much.”

__

“So are ya not afraid of heights anymore?”

__

“No,” he said, glancing at the landscape, “not anymore.” He noticed their box on the ferris wheel nearing the ground. “Is it over already?” 

__

“No, we get a few more rounds. This is a pretty big ferris wheel, so I’m guessin’ five more, tops. It’ll give us a lot more time to…” he said suggestively, putting a hand on Napoleon’s thigh, yet Napoleon’s attention was elsewhere.

__

“Who… who is that?” 

__

“Huh?”

__

“_Regardez!_ It is the man who waves at us!” Napoleon said, turning Al’s face in the direction of the person in question, pointing. “Is that… is that _ Larry_?”

__

“Oh, shit…!”

__

“Why does he look distressed? It is not late — we do not need to return to the museum yet.”

__

“I think you’re forgettin’ who Larry is.”

__

“What?”

__

“Whatcha mean by _‘what’_? We’re escapees, Nippy. He’s here to get us and bring us back.”

__

“That cannot be. It is not even near morning.”

__

“Right? He’s such a drag!”

__

***

__

The carnival _ was _ within walking distance of the Smithsonian if you considered a momentous trek that would surely result in the murder of shoes and the complete annihilation of feet within walking distance.

__

Napoleon and Al were no fools and took a bus; Al used his totally-not-pickpocketed money to cover the bus fare. They recognized a bunch of exhibits sprinkled around the seats, many of which looked completely out of place in such a modern environment. The Nordic Vikings were definitely a sight to behold on such a cramped space, but the carnival-drunk passengers and overworked bus driver couldn’t care less.

__

_ “Tu es mon héros,” _ he mumbled, relieved, leaning into Al, after he was told of the covered expenses. (You’re my hero.)

__

Anybody could guess that Napoleon Bonaparte had never ridden a bus before. He followed Al to a seat like a puppy and mimicked everything he did. He looked around uneasily, keeping an eye on the nonchalant bus driver, though admittedly, his eyes kept drooping.

__

Napoleon leaned on Al’s shoulder, and in turn, Al rested his head on Napoleon’s head. His hand rested on Al’s lap, their fingers interlaced. Together, they fell asleep.

__

Unbeknownst to the couple, Larry was also a passenger on the bus and the reason so many exhibits had boarded. He glanced at the couple every once in a while, and couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of _ someone _finding some sort of happiness in such a dreary city.

__


	13. Joyeux anniversaire!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon is mad at Al. Al is looking for Napoleon. Will they resolve this petty burst of anger? Will Napoleon learn to chill out? Will Al at least make an attempt to respect his partner’s standards for a relationship?

It was a cool night. So cool that, as Al stepped into the outside world, he could hardly breathe for a moment. The fresh air overtook him; he wasn’t expecting such a sharp contrast of the daily stuffiness of the museum. Had it really been that long since he’d _ breathed _ fresh air? 

He slapped himself: Stay focused, Al! He needed to continue his search for Napoleon, not dote on the quality of _ oxygen_! In as short as an hour, he had nearly turned the museum’s interior inside out. He wasn’t frenzied or crazed; he was simply worried. 

Larry wasn’t one to want the museum to fall down on itself. He warily suggested that Al redirect his search to a less… fragile environment. “Why not take a look outside?” he had said, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

Al had his doubts — Napoleon had never expressed much of… well, _ any _ kind of delight in the outside world. It was only natural. The futuristic modernity probably made the poor guy nervous; it certainly made Al feel out-of-place. And for a sap from the 1800s… Al couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling.

Suddenly, Al’s desperation spiked: He needed to find his poor little foreigner _ now_.

He ended up finding the bugger forlornly sitting on the steps that led to the one-and-only Abraham Lincoln statue. Triumphant memories of the Battle of the Smithsonian coursed through him as he glanced up at the president flicking away some pesky pigeons. He was certainly an odd fellow.

He turned back to the downcast man in question. _ What a drama queen. _

Truthfully, Al was startled when he first spotted Napoleon, and had moved to duck behind a nearby tree, but he soon realized that Napoleon did not see him. The general’s attention laid elsewhere. 

One needn’t hide from a blind man, as the saying went. 

All at once, Al’s surprise subsided and he smiled; Napoleon only had eyes for the sky. For now. 

Why was the sky such a big deal? — Al glanced upwards. The stars were a magnificent pile of specks. Only the irregular, twinkling lights of a plane could maintain Al’s attention. But he wasn’t one for stargazing. It was fun when they were on the ferris wheel, but now it was just… eh. Instead, Al composed himself and strolled towards the ol’ ball and chain.

“Come here often?” he said.

The expression on Napoleon’s face was priceless, but immediately faded back into vacancy. “I do not understand,” he said like a moody teenager, looking away.

“Y’know, ya say that a lot — _ ‘I do not understand.’_” 

He laughed nervously at his poor imitation. Napoleon did not.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. ‘Can’t expect ya to be an expert in English. It’s great that ya tell me when ya don’t understand.” A pause. “You’re actually gettin’ better, y’know. Ling… lingui… _ linguistically_ better. Ha, lookit me — I ain’t much better than ya.” Another pause. “Y’know, the first time I met ya, ya couldn’t understand half of what I said. You’ve improved a lot. I can… I can see that. You’ve helped _ me _improve, too. Not linguistically, but… but in other ways. Ha, and lookit ya now — ya can understand the bulk of what’s goin’ on ‘round here.”

Napoleon was really going with the silent treatment on this one, eh? Couldn’t he see that Al was struggling? Was Napoleon _ trying _to torture him? Hell, if he wanted to play that game, then Al would play it!

Al flippantly slid next to Nippy. He made sure not to touch the brat, as doing so would surely end in fierce French protests, which would be hilarious at any other time, but…

Sometimes, people need their space.

“You’re smart, y’know that?” Al went on. “I’m not smart, but you, oh boy — you’re a hot-shot emperor. Or, you _ were _ a hot-shot emperor. Ain’t no shame in that; I_ was _a powerful guy, but I ain’t no more, really. Now I’m just a museum exhibit, same as ya. The only interesting thing about me is the whole grayscale thing. But you’re still smart. I could never adapt to a futuristic foreign country like ya — I’d go nuts. I don’t know how ya do it…”

For the first time that week, Napoleon paused and looked at him. Al was not ready for such a simple, bored gaze. He was even less ready when Napoleon said:

“You ramble when you are nervous.”

“I ain’t nervous…”

“Yes, you are.”

Al did a shit job at suppressing a grin. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“I will not play a child’s game.”

“Aw, man. Don’t be like that, Nippy…”

“Do not _‘don’t be like that, Nippy’_ me!”

Al chuckled at the poor imitation of himself. _ God, what a piece of work he is! _ he thought. _ No matter how dreary or boring the museum gets, the guy always manages to find _ something _ that’ll send us spiraling. _

“I am not happy,” Napoleon said, sighing, “but seeing you like this makes me less happy.”

Napoleon scooted up to Al, pressing their sides together, and leaned into him, his head heavily resting on Al’s shoulder. It was a gesture that asked for comfort.

“My own personal lil’ heater…”

“Compared to you, I am. You are always so cold.”

“Guess it has somethin’ to do with bein’ a cardboard cutout, huh?”

“Oh, yes… I forget that you are not wax. I always forget.”

“Well, ya never seen me when I’m not alive, so…”

“I know.”

Nobody said anything for a while.

“So do ya… do ya forgive me?” Al asked. “Your silent treatment is killin’ me.”

“Killing?”

“Ya know what I mean — I can’t stand it.”

Napoleon thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I forgive you.”

Al let out the breath he’d been holding for the past minute. “Oh, thank God,” he said, putting his hand on his chest, acting overly relieved.

That earned a shove by a Napoleon who was currently attempting to hide his laughter.

“Shut up!” 

“Boy, am I relieved!” Al continued for the spiteful purpose annoying of him. He placed his other hand on his chest, pretending to breathe even more heavily. “Thank God!”

“Do not make me change my mind!”

_ “Fine,” _Al assented, rolling his eyes, acting as if he was a bratty teenager. “Jesus, you’re just like Larry…”

“Ah-ha! You try to make me angry, but it will not work!” Napoleon said. 

“What, are ya too smart or somethin’?”

“Shut up!”

“C’mon, smart guy…”

“What are you — _ ah-hehehe!_”

“How’d ya like that, emperor?”

"Do not start a — _ haha! _ — tickle fight when I'm — _ hahaha-ah! _— when I am supposed to be mad at you!” Napoleon scolded between convulsions of laughter. “You are a child!”

Al nearly wrestled Napoleon to the cold cement of the staircase they were sitting on, tickling at the sides of his torso. Al was glad for his youthful strength and its ability to remain (mostly) unaffected by Napoleon’s weak smacks and tugs. He straddled the general to have an easier time of suppressing the playful jabs. God, was Nippy’s laughing face a sight to behold!

“Aw, ya like it, don’tcha? Don’tcha?”

“I am no dog; do not speak to me like one…!”

Suddenly, Al’s hand, ever so discreetly, ever so secretly, drifted lower, lower, lower… until he grabbed an area that was otherwise inappropriate to grab in a public setting. In his defense, it was nighttime, and no one was present… 

“Hey!” Napoleon exclaimed. “I am still mad at you!”

“It’s night… no one will _ see_…”

Napoleon shot him a conflicted look, saying I-am-turned-on-but-I-still-want-to-be-mad. His eyes filled with lust and also harbored an increasingly subsiding rage.

“Bein’ angry is fun, but d’ya know what’s even funner?” 

“Using proper grammar?”

Napoleon didn’t give Al time to react and passionately kissed him. It was a long kiss that no of them wanted to pull away from until they direly needed to breathe, but even that became overrated as they immediately plunged into it again. 

“Makin’ out on a staircase… reminds me of high school,” Al panted.

Napoleon only replied with a small “mm” before kissing him again.

As they say, some people will never truly understand each other. And that’s okay — Al knew that now. You can’t know everything about a person, and nobody should expect you to. So what if Al had forgotten that today was Napoleon’s birthday? To him, that was a dumb reason to be angry —

“Maybe we should take this… _ inside _the museum,” Napoleon suggested. Al knew his bedroom eyes all too well, and easily assented. They walked toward the museum’s entrance, hand-in-hand.

— but Napoleon cared about stuff like that, and — knowing all the effort Napoleon must be mustering to merely withstand Al’s relentless taunts and awful jokes — he had to make the effort to accept the birthday thing, even if he didn’t understand, or care, why Napoleon was so crazy about it.

Sacrifices are made for people. Big or little, important or obsolete, public or private, happily or sadly, lovingly or hatefully — you do it because you care about them. Because you… you don’t just _like_ them, and you don’t just _care_ about them, you… you…

”Hey, Nippy?”

”Yes?”

A short beat of silence passed over them.

”’Love ya.”


	14. Amusement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be forewarned, this is a slightly explicit chapter. I got the inspiration for it from this image: 
> 
> https://pin.it/zuvzlqpktp72rc

Oh, nights like these were perfect indeed…

Al had his head resting on Napoleon’s stomach, their bodies from the torso-below underneath the extravagant blankets of the canopy bed. Napoleon’s bare thighs laid on either side of Al’s torso. Al wondered if his little heater had already drifted off to sleep; he hoped not.

“Mmfh mfhh,” Al mumbled incoherently against Napoleon’s belly, lips grazing the skin, surely sending tingles down the general’s body.

He could hear the faint rustle of Napoleon’s head perking up against the pillow. “What did you say?”

Al internally rolled his eyes. He lifted his head up, maintaining eye contact when he said:

“I said that I’m bored.”

That was a lie, more or less. Al was not “bored” — _restless _might’ve been a more fitting, PG-13 term for what he was feeling — but that wasn’t the point. The point was that, after an hour of cuddlin’ and snugglin’ and snoozin’, Al wanted a change of pace. He needed to _do _something, or else he might die of boredom. And that something didn’t exactly go along the innocent lines of cuddling. It didn’t help that, on top of these reasons, he was also very warm, very loved, and _very _half-naked.

_ Boxers all the way!_ he thought pridefully.

“If you are bored,” Napoleon said, affectionately petting Al’s tousled hair, “then there are ways to make you unbored.”

“Like?”

“Well, since you are already below me…”

Before Napoleon could finish the last syllables of his suggestion, Al planted a chaste kiss onto his happy trail. He then scooted lower, lower, lower until he was face-to-face with Napoleon’s boxers. He mouthed against the fabric, sending the general into absolute hysterics.

“You are so weird! Stop that!” Napoleon scolded.

Oh, Al _lived_ for stuff like this; he loved every noise, moan, gesture, stutter, reflex, quip, twitch Nippy made, to the extent that he would sometimes do the most outlandish things only to seek out his reaction, without any sort of ulterior motives in place.

Even so, Al quit his mouthing. He was laughing too hard, unable to do anything else. Napoleon wasn’t thrilled with being laughed at, but he did roll his eyes and give a little smile.

_“Ah, mon petit lapin…”_ he sighed, half exasperated, half humorous. (Ah, my little rabbit…)

Al had spent enough time with Napoleon to know the meaning of this phrase. He hardly minded being called a rabbit. If anything, it suited him; Nippy had mentioned before how his nose scrunches up and wiggles like a rabbit’s little sniffer. Al had never considered himself to be “cute,” but that’s exactly what Napoleon had called him after recounting his funny nose movements — _cute_.

Fueled by this memory, he suddenly yanked Napoleon’s boxers off and _really_ went to town. He nipped, sometimes bit Napoleon’s inner thigh, trailing his tongue around on hot flesh, sucking and teething and nuzzling. Napoleon wasn’t a big fan of this kind of treatment, but he let Al do it to him nonetheless.

Al felt fingers glide through his dark hair, gently at some moments, harshly at others. Nippy all but nearly ripped Al’s hair out when he encompassed Napoleon’s length into his mouth. Al certainly had a tongue like no other, and likely due to the mens’ sweaty, heated bodies working against one another, the room’s temperature dropped to a point where it felt as if they were boiling. Al realized that his mouth must be like fiery coals for Nippy.

At one point, Napoleon regained himself enough to muster a weak _“Ah, suce-moi la b-bite!”_ before Al completely took him into his mouth. Nippy was once again reduced to a gasping mess.

_Oh, sing for me! _Al thought.

Instead, a small movement — barely a thrust of the hips — into Al’s face proved a little too much for his gag reflexes. He choked, but managed to quickly recover. At any other given time, Napoleon would’ve muttered some sort of “I apologize!” or an “Are you alright?” This, however, was not just any other given time; this was a bed-shaking, mind-numbing, white-hot blowjob that he was receiving. Who could recall their manners whilst getting their brains sucked out?

No, Napoleon only continued thrusting upwards into Al’s face. Al was enjoying himself a little too much with this new development, and he swallowed around Napoleon’s length. He was only too happy to oblige when Napoleon rolled him over so the general could fuck his mouth from a better vantage point.

Napoleon could feel his length down Al’s searing throat. If he had any coherent thought right now, he’d probably be thinking something along the lines of _Well, this is one way to get him to shut up. I must keep that in mind._

Once Napoleon’s rhythm grew messy and erratic and out-of-control, Al sensed he little general had finally reached his limit. Immediately after having this thought, Napoleon unloaded into Al’s mouth. He swallowed. Napoleon, heavily breathing, slid out and laid down beside him, dazed out of his mind. Their bare chests heaved up and down.

After a minute of rabbit-like heartbeats and catching their breaths, Al laughed. It proved infectious and soon they were both convulsing in laughter.

“‘Guess you finally got to be on top, huh?”

“Now you are the woman,” Napoleon teased.

“No,” Al said, suddenly serious. He turned his head to face Napoleon, who followed suite. “There is no woman. You’re not one, I’m not one, and that’s alright. Alright?”

Napoleon understood. “Alright.”

“I love ya.” He smiled cheekily.

“I love you, too.”

“O’ course ya do.”

Al pulled Napoleon towards him, embracing him with a big ol’ bear hug and a big ol’ passionate kiss that inevitably turned into a heart-thrumming makeout. It was all foolishness, and they loved it. Rolling around underneath the covers, both completely naked, giggling like idiots, kissing down one’s neck, pecking the other’s nose, squeezing one’s ass, playfully nipping their ear, letting their tongues through each other’s lips. 

Al was a renowned master at fooling around in bed. Napoleon was not the least bit affected by his own role as the receiver — his reserved nature and sense of dignity were prominent factors in this.

As an example, at one point in their messy makeout session, Al held the sides of Napoleon’s beaming face and _licked _a wide, wet stripe that travelled from his forehead to his jaw. It was such a sensual, slow gesture that the general apparently thought it was the funniest thing on Earth, and Al wouldn’t trade the giggling that followed for anything in the world.

Things really got interesting, however, when Napoleon boldly and unexpectedly enwrapped his fingers around Al’s length and unapologetically looked Al — who was currently trying to flip him over; can ya blame a guy for discretely wanting to try new positions? — dead in the eye. He cooed, “May I return the favor for your earlier gesture?”

Al ceased his attempts and felt his heart drop a million miles. He _wanted_ to say something alone the lines of _Okay, who told ya that ya could be this cute? D’ya even know how adorable it is that ya call a blowjob a “gesture”? God, I’d suck ya off a hundred times jus’ to hear ya say it again._ However, in actuality, all he said — with the stupidest boyish grin on his face — was:

“Go for it, pumpkin.”

Napoleon wasted no time. In a position much like their earlier one, save their switched roles, Napoleon enveloped Al’s entire length into his mouth on the get-go. Al suddenly understood Napoleon’s previous whines and moans and did not hold back for anything.

One new thing Napoleon learned about Al that day: He was a talker.

“Oh, oh, ahhh, Na-Napoleon…!” he cried. “Oh, you’re so…! Oh my God, f-fuck yeah…!”

Al tugged at Napoleon’s hair like there was no tomorrow. It was a surprise he didn’t scalp him, or at least manage to yank out a couple of locks. The man currently giving him head certainly wouldn’t have been too thrilled about that.

Al came in his mouth much earlier than Napoleon had, but luckily for Al, Napoleon didn’t care to be a stickler about these sort of things. He instead crawled up to be face-to-face with Al and gave him a deep, tongue-tying kiss that his own swollen mouth could hardly keep up with.

The heat eventually died down as they tired themselves to the brink of collapse. A few minutes passed while they just laid together in bed, arms and legs hopelessly tangled under the covers, utterly spent from their earlier excursions. Al’s restlessness had all but faded and he was sound asleep on Napoleon’s chest in no time. Napoleon resumed petting his hair, staring down at him, eyes half-lidded.

_“Je suis amoureux, n'est-ce pas?” _(I’m in love, aren’t I?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, ideas, recommendations, thoughts, and corrections are appreciated!


	15. Épouse-moi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power goes out. Napoleon has something he wants to ask Al. Cue the emotional orchestra music and flowing tears and a non-traditional proposal.

A raging storm had recently overtaken the outside world. Larry did a decent job of keeping the exhibits calm, and surprisingly all hell _didn’t_ manage to break loose when the damn power decided to go out. Nobody took kindly to the complete darkness that enveloped the entirety of the Smithsonian, not even the smartest of them, but it didn’t ensure a mass hysteria like the nearby carnival had last time — Larry was thankful for that, at least.

Al and Napoleon were no exception to the unhappy residents. They had been sleazing around the _ History of Film _ section, sitting in an empty yet spacious bathtub from the set of _ Pretty Woman (1990)_. They were fully clothed and not a drop of water could be seen within miles. It was a harmless place of relaxation for the two. And as the wax figures and statues milled about outside of the massive tub, every once in awhile peeking inside to see what all the noise was about, Al and Napoleon played red hands. 

Al, as always, had to teach the game to Nippy. That in itself was never an easy goal — as the Einstein bobbleheads always said, it was like teaching a fish to ride a bicycle.

“What are the rules again? You confuse me, _mon_ _lepin_.”

For what felt like the thousandth time, Al rolled his eyes. Napoleon took no offense to this, knowing it was only one of Al’s many lighthearted chaffs. Over the years, he had declined in his tendency to grow easily offended and almost never burst out in frustration anymore. 

Key word: _ Almost. _

“Ya put yer hand forward, like this,” Al explained, extending Napoleon’s hands forward at an arm’s length, “with the palms down.” Napoleon did so. “Good. Now, I’ll place my hands under yer hands with my palms facin’…?”

“I do not appreciate being treated like a child.”

Al only stared at him.

“Up,” came the gruff reply.

“Good.” Al positioned his own palms upwards. “The object of the game is for me to slap the back of yer hands before ya pull away. If I miss, we’ll swap roles and play again.”

“Okay, okay. I think I understand.” At this point, he was _ set _ on not letting Al down. It was _ incredibly _ adorable to see such determination and effort put into such a little game.

“Ya better. I ain’t gettin’ any younger over here.”

Al slapped Napoleon’s hands the first four times. The fourth try resulted in a pained _ “Ow!” _that definitely earned them a few puzzled onlookers. Al guessed he would be mildly concerned to hear slapping noises and pained yowls emitting from a waterless bathtub that contained two grown men.

“Why must you slap so hard?” Napoleon hissed, cradling his pinkened hands.

“‘Cause that’s what yer supposed to do!”

Motivated to carry out his vengeance, Napoleon managed to dodge Al’s next slap.

“There ya go! Now we switch.”

As it turned out, Napoleon wasn’t too good at being the slapper. Not once did he hit Al — not _ once_. 

“Yer awful at this,” Al teased after he gave Napoleon a particularly stinging slap to the hand. It was his seventh win in a row.

“Ah, but I am not embarrassed, no. You are only good because you play for so long! I am a beginner!”

“True, true,” Al affirmed. He leaned back. “So… d’ya have any childhood games we could play?”

“I—”

That was when the power went out. 

The whole ordeal proved to be quite a fright for little ol’ Napoleon. He jumped, startled at his sudden blindness, and immediately grabbed for Al like a scared child. Their hands quickly found the other’s and intertwined.

“What happened?”

“Either someone’s messin’ with the lights, or the power just went kablooey,” Al replied. “There’s a pretty bangin’ storm outside, so I’m puttin’ my money on the latter.”

“What do we do?”

“Well, we could…”

Napoleon felt Al’s arm snake around him, tugging at his ass. “Al!” he huffed, shoving him away.

“Could ya lovebirds keep it down over there?” a ragged voice in the dark called. It was one of the _ Film _ exhibits, God knows _ who _ in such darkness, though obviously one of the elders.

“Could ya mind yer own business, grandpa?” Al shot back.

There was a follow-up of irritated whispers and exasperated snorts made by various exhibits made immobile by the power outage. Everyone was sitting ducks. Al ignored them and lightly hugged Napoleon from behind, just to let the other know where he was so he wouldn’t be afraid. The contact was readily welcomed.

“I hope Rinty is not scared…”

“Napoleon,” Al whispered.

“Yes?”

“We should go check Larry out. He might need our help,” he said. “And I don’t wanna be sittin’ ‘round in this creepy-ass darkness waitin’ to be saved like a goddamned damsel in distress.”

“How will we find Larry?”

“We could try to navigate.”

“Al, we cannot _ see _anything.”

“Woah, Napoleon! I hadn’t noticed that! What an amazing discovery ya just made! Why, I’m so glad ya told me this information! I woulda never known!”

A beat of silence.

“You are mean.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay, okay.” Napoleon stood up and promptly helped Al to his feet. “You lead.”

“Why me?”

“Do you not say that I am the girl?” he said, grinning though Al could not see it. “Girls do not go first.”

“Damn you, shorty.”

Al felt around the tub’s edges and hopped out easily enough. Napoleon was no different. They made their way down the pitch blackness of the _ Film _section, their feet every once in awhile stepping upon the legs of sitting exhibits, forced to be immobile by the darkness, or walls or corners.

“Which way’re the stairs to the storage unit? D’ya remember?”

Napoleon blindly felt around until his fingers found a cat-shaped statue. He felt for its facial details, thought for a moment, then said, “We keep going down this hallway, take two lefts and three rights, and we should be there.”

“Y’can tell all that from a _ statue_?”

“I have a good memory. The cat statue faces the hallway that leads to the stairs of the storage unit.”

Al’s voice softened; Napoleon felt a gentle hand grope him. “Smartypants.”

“We have been here for years, no? I nearly have the whole museum mapped out, except for the parts that I do not visit often.”

Napoleon in the lead, they continued down the pathway. Unlike Al, Napoleon was levelheaded and took the utmost care to _ not _collide with anything in the fear of falling flat on his face; Al, on the other hand, kept on nagging him to “Hurry it up, will ya?” or “Gee, it’s like takin’ a walk with my gran!” Consequently, Al was as clumsy as a bat and fell over nearly everything in their path.

Sensing that they were finally nearing their destination, Al’s mind began to wander off from their objective.

“How long has it been that we came alive, again? Three years?”

“And eight months, I believe.”

“Woah. That’s insane, ain’t it?”

“I fail to see what this has to do with” — Napoleon sidestepped the faint silhouette of a railing — “finding Larry.”

“Aw, c’mon. Ya can’t say that it’s _ not _crazy? I mean, three years is a long time, don’tcha agree?”

Napoleon agreed a little _ too _ wholeheartedly. “Yes, yes, three years… Three years of you and me — three years of _ us_, no?”

“Y’get it! Ain’t it somethin’? I’ve really been thinkin’ that Larry should organize some sort o’ celebration for all those exhibits, don’tcha think? Like, a celebration of life, y’know? We’ve been alive for so long.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes. His partner wasn’t much of an empath or a sympathizer, but he sure as hell could be such a sentimentalist when his brain would let him. And, unbeknownst to Al, it was the _ perfect _segway into a topic that Napoleon had been wanting to discuss with Al for quite a while now.

“I guess so. I never really thought about that,” Napoleon said. He smiled and gently nudged Al with his shoulder. “Time flies when you are having fun, no?” 

“Ha, ya said it, shortstack.” 

As much as Napoleon wanted to — and he _ really _wanted to — talk about that idea that’d been rattling around in his head, he kept his mouth shut. This was certainly not the time nor place to discuss such matters. He at least wanted to _see _Al when he asked him.

They descended down the stairs and made it to the storage unit. Flashlights, held by various trustworthy and levelheaded exhibits, were everywhere, like floating beams of illumination. The disembodied voice of Bessie Coleman pointed them in the direction of Larry. He was working on the generator, flashlight in hand, which would properly power the upper Smithsonian for the night. 

“And when will this… this _ generator _ be working, Mr. Daley?” Napoleon asked, not knowing what a generator was.

“Oh, give or take a minute. I got a few things to do.” He worked for five minutes. “And… _ vóila_!” 

Al and Napoleon made their way back up the stairs and, sure enough, the lights were back on, though a little blinky. _ Too _ blinky, at that — it looked like they were in a damn horror movie.

Al’s hand immediately found Nippy’s as they began strolling through the halls. “Everything’s back to normal, huh? It’s a bit creepy, in my opinion.”

Napoleon, believe it or not, had a few things — well, _ one _ thing in particular — that he _ needed _ to ask Al. Agh, he was just too nervous! Ever since the events that had transpired a few nights ago — when Napoleon _ really _ began believing that this thing between them was as solid as a block of marble statue — he had been working up the courage to _ ask_. 

He was going to ask a question. _ The _ question. The ultimate question, the one that would solidify their fates forever, one that will make their relationship _ really _feel like an official status, one that would be a game-changer, a life-changer, a history-changer…

That is, if Al said yes.

“Y’know what I think?”

Napoleon played along, still a little wrapped up in his thoughts. “What do you think, Al?” 

“You’ve been too uptight lately. Somethin’ on yer mind?”

They stopped walking, prompted by Al, and stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at each other. Napoleon was sweating; was it hot in here or was it just him?

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like yer hidin’ somethin’.” An uncharacteristically suspicious tone of voice directed itself at Napoleon. “I know yer not tellin’ me somethin’. You’ve been pretty uptight lately,” he repeated.

“And you have been too tall lately, but I am not complaining, am I?” he replied before standing on his tippy toes and capturing Al in a soft kiss. _That_ would surely shut him up for a few moments so Napoleon could gather his thoughts and decide if he was confident enough to actually go through with this.

Soon enough, Napoleon was trapped. Al had encircled his arms around his waist, holding him there. “Hey, I didn’t even have to crouch down that time. Yer gettin’ better.”

“Or maybe I am getting taller.”

“Or maybe ya got some extra high heels from that Marilyn Monroe chic.”

“For the _ last _ time, they are _ boots_! I do not wear—”

The words died in Napoleon’s mouth when Al kissed him, this time more passionately and forcefully. Napoleon felt Al’s dexterous hands slide underneath his uniform to feel him up. 

“Okay, okay, I’m gettin’ carried away…!”

Napoleon feigned a pout when Al pulled himself away. “Al…”

“Yer seducin’ me jus’ so ya can avoid the subject, ya lil’ siren!” he scolded. “So, tell me. You’ve been weird lately. I wanna know why. I’m gettin’ impatient, Nippy.”

“I… well…” Napoleon took a deep breath. “This is probably the only time that I will have enough courage to… to say it.” His eyes casted down for a moment, reorganizing himself, then looked up into Al’s puzzled face. “I like you. You know this. And I love you, and you love me — a little too much, sometimes.”

Al smiled.

“And you make me happy. You make me so happy, Al. And I know that I make you irritated and mad and hurt at times, but I also know that I make _you_ happy. That is beautiful. I never knew I could make someone feel as good as they make me feel,” he said. “When I was alive — when I was the _ real _ Napoleon Bonaparte — I had never known what such freedom felt like. I could not even begin to imagine what _ you _felt like, what you make _me_ feel like. And I… I never want to let that go.”

“Napoleon… that's so…” He was unable to finish the sentence. His eyes watered. “Why are ya…?” he began to ask, wondering why on Earth Napoleon was being such a tear-inducer right now. 

“I never want to let you go,” Napoleon affirmed. “I know that you have had trouble figuring out what to call _us_. I understand that. We are an odd couple, are we not? You are so tall, I am so short; and we are from different timelines in history; you are a leader of the mafia, I am a general; you are American and I am French… It is messy. We are a mess, no?” he said. “But I want to ask you something. I want to ask you something _so much_ and I am so nervous because I love you so much, and you are about to cry and that makes me about to cry, and…”

Al swallowed thickly. 

Napoleon chuckled his nervousness away, though it remained. “Well, if you do not understand what I am trying to say at this point, I might be asking the dumbest man on Earth to marry me.”

Napoleon was not ready for the kiss that followed, but he returned it all the same, eyes squeezed shut and felt the tears rolling down Al’s cheeks. He threw his arms around his shoulders. 

He pulled away, inches from Al’s nose, breathless. “Marry me, Al.”

***

“And, afterwards,” he continued as they made their way to the bed exhibit, “ya can ride me out for the rest of the night like a good ol’ cowboy at a rodeo. Whaddya say?”

“I would love to, but what is a cowboy?”

Al looped his arm around his fiancé as they walked down the perfectly-lit hallway; the moment felt very tender, slow-paced. “Do ya remember Jedediah? That tiny little guy with the hat and boots and a funny American accent? He’s blond…?”

“Ah, yes, I do. He is a friend of the little Roman’s.”

“Yeah. That’s a cowboy.”

Silence.

“Al?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you call me ‘cowboy?’”

“‘Cause they ride bulls at rodeos. And that’s what yer gonna do to me tonight, sweetheart.”

“What is a rodeo?”

“A place where cowboys ride bulls, I think. If ya can stay on one long enough, ya get money. And bragging-rights. But mostly money.”

“Why?”

“Oh my God! Questions, questions, questions! It’s like I’m married to a damned tourist!” 

Napoleon flushed a pinkish color. He still could not get over that word. _Married._ “I am not a tourist.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I was sayin’ that it’s _ like _ bein’ married _ to _ a tourist,” he explained.

“Who is Sherlock?”

“Oh. My. God.”

“You say that I can ask questions about things I do not know! Now you do not tell me!”

“I did, just not… so many questions at a time,” he said as if the whole ordeal was giving him a headache. As they ambled side-by-side, he pulled him closer and lightly pecked Napoleon’s cheek. “‘Kay?”

“Okay.”

Napoleon was about to say something else, but was interrupted by a fierce, “If ya ask me what a bull is, I _ will _divorce yer ass.”

Hearty laughter could be heard emanating off of the hallways. Nonetheless, Napoleon kept his mouth shut.


End file.
